Kentucky Fire
by RisingPhoenix17
Summary: "You've dedicated your life to savin' people, Lieutenant. My question is...who's gonna save you?" Sometimes the things that are exactly what we need are also the things that have been right in front of us all along.
1. A Terrible Liar

"You okay, Lieutenant?"

Slowly, he lifted his eyes from the spot on the bar top that he had been staring at to the stack of glasses that lined the back counter. His beer was bordering on being room temperature, but he barely noticed. When he answered, his voice was weary, "I'm fine."

The bartender tilted her head slightly to one side, "You sure?"

No, he wasn't sure. He wasn't okay. He hadn't been okay in a long time, but he wasn't about to tell her that. ...She knew he wasn't okay. She'd always known. She'd been able to see right through him since the day Herrmann hired her for part time help shortly after Molly's had opened. "I'm sure."

It had been a slow night, and the crowd was beginning to thin early, so she didn't feel bad about lingering. She leaned against the old bar, "You don't look fine."

He sighed, returning his gaze to the bar top, "I'm really tired." That was the truth. Last shift had been rough, and he was just drained physically, mentally, and emotionally.

"Then you need to go home." He looked exhausted. It had been a few months since the loss of his child, and she'd noticed a downhill turn in him since then. Add in the tremendous stress of his job, the harrowing incident with the shooters several weeks ago, the nasty world of politics that he had ventured into, and the recent uproar in his personal life, and it was a thousand wonders that the man hadn't gone stark raving mad.

Home was not the place he wanted to be right now. His roommate had "company" over, and she was...very animated, to say the least. He did _not_ want to hear anything that they said or did during their "visit". As Casey raised his eyes to hers, he found nothing but genuine concern looking back at him. He appreciated it, but he could deal with his issues on his own. "I'm fine, Becca." He started to take a drink, but thought better of it when exactly how warm the bottle was finally registered.

"You keep sayin' that…and I have yet to believe it." Becca scratched at an imaginary spot on the bar top, debating on whether or not to continue. She'd always offered a listening ear, but he'd never opened up. He just seemed to be withdrawing more and more. Why couldn't anyone else see it? Oh, he acted like he was just fine, but she knew better; his eyes told her everything his mouth wouldn't. "You've dedicated your life to savin' people, Lieutenant." she began, "My question is..." - she looked up at him, frowning just a little - "Who's gonna save you?"

Good question. He didn't have an answer for that. "I'm fine. Really."

"You're a terrible liar, y'know that?" She reached beneath the bar and produced a cold beer, shaking her head when he started to reach for his wallet, "This one's on me."

"Thanks." He twisted the bottle cap off and took a long drink, praying that the alcohol would kick in soon and numb some of the ache that seemed to permanently permeate his soul. Time to change the subject. "Any word on when your house is closing?"

Citywide budget cuts were once again hitting the CFD hard. Several small houses were closing, and Becca's was next on the list. It sucked. She'd been there for five years now, and she loved her coworkers like family. She was one of the lucky ones, though – she was being reassigned instead of being laid off, put into relief rotation, or worse...simply let go. Working at another house just seemed wrong, though. She didn't _want_ to work anywhere else, but she didn't exactly have much of a choice. The Powers That Be had spoken, and her house was finished. Period. The sadness was evident in her voice as she spoke, "Yeah. Tomorrow is our last shift."

"I'm sorry to hear that." How much longer was this going to continue? How many firefighters were going to be displaced or unemployed before the cuts stopped? How thin were the remaining houses going to be spread in an attempt to properly cover the city? And how long would it be until 51 came up on someone's list again? "Do you know where you're going?"

Becca nodded, putting on a brave face, "They're sendin' me to a good house. I just...won't be on a Truck."

She'd been a Truckie since he'd known her. She loved it, and she was good at it. The only other place that she could conceivably go would be to an ambulance, and he knew that she wouldn't like that. "What'll you be on?"

For a moment she hesitated, almost like she didn't want to say the words because that would make the change more real. At length, she wetted her lips and sighed, "I passed my Squad test."

Shocked, he gaped at her for a split second, "Becca, that's great!"

She shook her head, causing a section of her chestnut-colored hair to spill over her right shoulder, "No, it's not. I don't want to be on Squad. I'm a Truckie. Squad guys are jerks."

She had a point there. Members of the Rescue Squads had a tendency to be...cocky. And lots of them had tendencies to be jerks, too. But, not all of them were like that. "Our Squad guys aren't jerks." he argued, "You know that."

She shrugged, "Yeah. I like your Squad; they've always been nice to me. Kelly Severide needs to quit starin' at my ass, though. He ain't got a snowball's chance in hell with me and he knows it, too."

At this, Casey chuckled, lightening up for the first time that night, "Oh, come on; you mean to tell me that the invincible and devilishly handsome Kelly Severide doesn't even _remotely_ stand a chance with you?" He'd been trying to hook the two of them up for months now, and Becca was having none of it. Severide needed a decent woman like her; she would straighten him out and give him some much-needed stability. Unfortunately, Severide's reputation had far preceded him on this one – she was _not_ interested. Sev didn't seem too interested in her, either; his mind was on a single track right now, and he'd told Casey numerous times that Becca was "too straight-laced" for him.

Becca snorted, "Nope. He's cute, and he's nice, but he's been with every single woman in this town 'cept for me, Brett, Connie, Kidd, and - " she was saying the final name before she could stop herself - "Dawson." She'd been making an effort _not_ to mention Dawson around Casey. They'd been broken up for almost two months now, and she knew it still hurt him. Since the breakup, he'd only come to Molly's on the nights that Dawson wasn't working. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that name."

He shrugged, sighing sadly, "It's fine." They'd had another spat over his campaign, only this one had gone from spat to full-blown argument in about thirty seconds. Dawson had thrown her hands up, said "I can't do this. I'm done.", and walked away. He'd let her go, deciding that both of them just needed to cool off. He'd expected her to come back around, but…she hadn't. A couple of days passed before he approached her, asking forgiveness for blowing up like he had. She'd just sighed, shook her head, and told him that she forgave him, but she had decided that they needed to just go their separate ways for good this time.

He'd had to fix four more holes in the walls of his apartment that day.

There was that flash of pain in his eyes that she hated, the brief flash that told her he was hurt milliseconds before he stuffed whatever was bothering him into a Deal-With-It-Later box in his head. Crap. Quickly, she changed the subject, "How's the campaign going?"

The look that he gave her told her that she'd picked yet another poor topic. A rare thread of sarcastic anger tinted his response, "It's going great. My mother's mug shot is on billboards all over the ward, the fact that I did construction work at a strip club is being used against me, the corporate sponsors are throwing their money in the _opposite_ direction, I'm making deals with street gangs, photographers are showing up at _every_ scene, my relationship ended because of it, and the house is beginning to be affected." He nodded sharply, huffing, "So, yeah, it's fantastic. A dream come true."

She watched him force the anger and frustration down as a long, exhausted, what-am-I-gonna-do sigh escaped him. "Honey…" she started gently.

Casey leaned forward and buried his face in his hands for a moment, wishing that he could just disappear for a while. "I'm sorry, Becca." he apologized, propping his left elbow onto the bar and leaning his forehead into his palm, "I shouldn't have taken that tone with you."

"It's okay; you're frustrated."

"That's not an excuse for being sharp with you." Frustrated was the understatement of the century. Frustrated didn't even _begin_ to cover the wild mix of emotions that were bombarding him constantly. He was angry because of the mud-slinging that was quickly taking over the run for Alderman, he was frustrated because nothing was going right, he was uneasy about making deals with thugs, he was depressed beyond measure because he'd lost Dawson _again_ , he was embarrassed at what was being spread about himself and his personal life all across the ward, he was worried about the damage that his campaign was doing to the house, he was stressed out about, well, _everything_ … His voice wavered as he spoke softly, "I don't know what to do."

Oh, she hated seeing him like this. She missed hearing him laugh from across the room. She missed that knee-weakening smile of his. She missed the way his gorgeous blue eyes lit up when he was happy and having a good time. She hated this dark cloud that had overtaken her friend, and she'd give anything to make it go away. Carefully, Becca put a hand on his forearm, "What do _you_ want to do?"

The weight of her hand was comforting, honestly, and it made him feel a little better. "I want to do what's right." he answered honestly, "I want to help people."

She loved that about him. He was by far one of the most selfless people she'd ever met, and she had a great deal of respect for him because of that. However, he usually ended up putting himself in a spot in order to help someone else or to do what he thought was right. "I know that, sweetheart, but sometimes you have to do what's best for _you_. Sometimes you have to put yourself first. You can't help other people if you've pushed yourself to the limit." She gave him a little squeeze, "And I think you're at your limit."

"Maybe." He slipped back into his well-practiced air of calm as he slowly pulled away from her, "I should probably head out." He _really_ didn't want to go home, but it was getting late, and he was getting a little too talkative. Becca's concern was appreciated, but she had enough going on in her life and didn't need his issues.

"It's rainin'." Thunder rumbled outside, almost like it had been waiting for her cue. "Did you drive?"

He slid off of his barstool and zipped his coat, "No. I can catch a cab."

Quickly, she glanced at the clock, "Well, if you can wait for ten minutes, my shift 'll be up. I'll take you home."

 **…**

Raindrops splattered against the windshield, lingering for just a brief second before being swiped away by the windshield wipers. The sound of the rain coupled with the warmth that filled the cab of Becca's truck and the steady rumble of the engine pushed Casey closer and closer to the edge of sleep. She was talking about the new bourbon that Herrmann was wanting to try, voicing her displeasure at having been completely overlooked for an opinion. She was a Kentuckian, born and raised – she _knew_ bourbon! She was delving into the intricacies of how bourbon got its flavoring, and about how things like Kentucky's crazy weather and limestone-rich water helped to make _the_ _best_ bourbon, and she loved Herrmann dearly, but how _dare_ he pick a bourbon that wasn't from _her_ home state… He was honestly trying really hard to pay attention, but sleep was beginning to win him over. …He loved the way she talked, loved the way she dropped the 'g' at the end of certain words, loved the little country twang that threaded through her sentences like a stream through a forest. Her very distinct voice was like a cool breeze on a hot day to him; relaxing, revitalizing, and much welcomed. It didn't matter how crappy his day had been, he immediately felt better when he heard his friend's voice. He'd always felt that way, even when he…wasn't single…

He didn't dare tell her that, though. There were a lot of things that he didn't dare tell her; things that no one else knew, things that hurt, things that scared him, things that he hoped for and dreamed about, things that would lay his carefully guarded heart out in the open…so many things that he wanted to tell her but didn't have the courage to say…

She was slowing to a stop outside of his apartment building before he realized it. Groggily, Casey stretched as he reached for the buckle of his seatbelt, "Thanks for the ride."

"You're welcome. Good night, Lieutenant."

She was back to calling him that again. She'd never called him by his first name, and had only used things like "honey" and "sweetheart" when he was really down and she was trying to make him feel better. Part of him wished that one day she would just drop it and call him Matt. "G'night." He opened his door and started to get out, but paused, "You never told me what house you were being sent to."

Becca smiled, "Promise not to tell?"

He frowned. What difference did it make if he told anyone or not? Who was he gonna tell, anyway – Severide? "I promise."

She partially closed her right hand and held her pinkie finger out to him, "Pinkie promise?"

Since when did guys pinkie promise? Since when did anyone over the age of eight pinkie promise? He was honestly curious about her relocation, though. Giving in, he shot her a wink, and locked his pinkie finger with hers, "Promise. Now, what house are you going to?"

Her smile brightened, "Yours."

 **…**

Author's Note: Thanks to Lauren C. Powell, Pallada, CrAzyDuKeDoGgIrL2009, Ruthybaby, and Taffyrose for the follows/favorites from last time. I feel like Matt hasn't been getting a lot of *ahem* attention lately, so I decided to fix that. Becca and the plot belong to me. Expect stuff to heat up pretty quickly. There's a rating for a reason. Still stuck on the other fics, so any suggestions are welcomed. Let me know what you think.


	2. Cold Metal

"Aw, man – what if we're gettin' stuck with Welch again?" Cruz wondered, shifting nervously in his chair. The break room was full that morning, and Squad was uneasily awaiting the introduction of their newest member.

"Don't you say that crap!" Capp exclaimed, "Don't you bring that bad mojo on us! Go knock on some wood!"

"Relax." Casey said, sipping his coffee, "It's not Welch."

Cruz's voice was hopeful, "You know who it is, Lieutenant?"

He nodded, "It's a really good friend of mine. They're a little nervous, though, so you guys need to go easy on 'em."

Otis claimed the chair across the table from Casey, "I didn't know Squad had a spot open."

"We don't." Cruz replied, "We're getting somebody from one of the houses that closed the other day."

Kidd chuckled, "It'd be awesome if we were getting another lady in the house."

Capp shook his head, "No way. Squad is perfectly happy being female-free."

Brett gasped as an idea struck her, "You know who would be perfect?"

"Rebecca Miller!" Otis exclaimed, finishing Brett's thought, "Her house was closed two days ago."

"That _would_ be pretty cool." Herrmann admitted, "Except for the fact that Becca's a Truckie."

"Not anymore." sighed a familiar voice, "I passed my Squad test."

Becca was met with a chorus of congratulations and greetings as she was quickly swarmed by the members of 51. Severide patted her shoulder as he squeezed out from behind her and returned to his seat at Squad's table.

"Why didn't you tell us you were coming here?" Herrmann asked, giving her a warm hug.

"I wanted to surprise you." she smiled, thankful that she already knew everyone here and didn't truly have to go through the horribly awkward stage of being "the new girl".

"We're surprised." Mouch grinned, leaning in for his turn to hug her.

"I guess we can make an exception to the 'No Girls Allowed' Rule." Capp chuckled as he gave Becca a quick squeeze, "Just this once."

"Thanks, Capp." she laughed.

Casey gave her a gentle smile as he wrapped her in a tight hug. "Welcome home." he murmured, releasing her.

Her smile was genuine and appreciative, "Thanks, Lieutenant."

 _Beeee-deee-brrrrrrr!_

"Ambulance Sixty-One, Squad-Three, Truck Eighty-One," the dispatcher began as the crews scrambled out into the bay, "Two-vehicle accident…"

 **…**

Well, that run hadn't been any fun. Becca had been expecting an entrapment, or a partial ejection, or a downed line, or anything other than what they'd been sent to – a fender-bender. Two fire trucks and an ambulance…for a fender-bender. PD and 61 could've easily handled it. But, the dispatcher only knew what the caller had told her, so…

They were in the process of cleaning up. She was closing a compartment on the side of Squad 3 when a thick arm wrapped around her neck, hauling her backward against a solid, smelly body. The distinctive click of a gun being cocked preceded the sudden shock of cold metal being pressed into her right temple.

"Make one peep and I'll blow your brains out." the man growled, dragging her out from behind the rig and into the street.

Fingers digging into the skin of the man's arm and feet kicking desperately against his shins, Becca couldn't help but choke as he practically picked her up by her neck and carried her, the movement partially closing her airway. Add that to the awful mixture of body odor and alcohol that seethed off of the man, and she was moments way from suffocating. Panic began to flame within her as the severity of her situation became apparent. She stuffed it down, knowing that she had to stay calm if she wanted to stay alive.

A bystander immediately spotted them and screamed, grabbing everyone's attention.

"Hey!" Roman shouted as he and Burgess drew their weapons, "Let her go!"

"I want a plane ticket to Mexico and fifty thousand dollars!" the man demanded, keeping Becca up high enough that the toes of her boots barely scraped the pavement, "Or the lady gets it!" For emphasis, he flexed his bicep, causing his hostage to whimper as she clawed at his arm.

"Let her go!" Severide ordered, brandishing a Halligan bar.

"Drop your weapon!" Burgess barked.

"Put her down!" Boden demanded, "Now!"

The man staggered a bit in his intoxicated state, his arm loosening as he reflexively started to catch himself, almost dropping Becca in the process. That split second was all she needed.

As soon as her boots touched the ground, the world around her slowed to a crawl. Using every ounce of strength that she had, she turned her head to the side and shoved upward on the man's arm, which pushed her body downward, wrenching her free from his grasp. There was a sharp _crack!_ as his gun discharged mere centimeters above her head. Dropping low, she pivoted on her toes, turning herself toward her attacker. In the seconds that she had to look at the disheveled nut-job, she realized that he had a lot more coursing through his veins than alcohol and stupidity; he was high as a kite, too. Fantastic. By this time, he had recovered enough to haphazardly take aim at her. Surging upward, she grabbed the weapon and twisted downward as hard as she could. A satisfying _pop!_ told her that she'd broken his finger. Using that momentum, she yanked the gun from his damaged hand and knocked him to the ground. Training the gun at his head, she tightened her finger around the trigger as the world snapped back to normal and her ears began to ring from the closeness of the gunshot. "Don't move." she growled.

Those few seconds were all Roman and Burgess needed to close in on the man, who now lay whimpering on the pavement.

Without even really thinking about it, Becca cleared the pistol and dropped the magazine. For a long moment, she stared at the pieces of black metal that lay in her hands, mind briefly reeling at how close she'd just come to death. And then, her training kicked in, shoving the feelings of holy-shit-I-almost-died deep into the recesses of the mental Deal-With-It-Later box that all first responders had. The world around her went kind of hazy as her mind focused on one thing – in this case, the gun – in order to reset itself. She was holding a Ruger SR9c. It was a nice, slick looking gun. She liked Rugers. She'd considered buying a SR9c once, but chose a LCP instead because a .380 was easier for a woman to conceal than a 9mm. …Maybe CPD would let her jump through the necessary hoops and buy this one someday after everything was said and done. Was that super sick of her to want the thing that had nearly killed her?

She shouldn't have been able to get out of that. She should be dead. That had been one of those situations in which either a sniper or a cop with hella good aim would've been her only hope. She shouldn't be standing here right now.

But she was.

Hands were on her suddenly, taking the gun from her, guiding her towards Ambo, trying to keep her hidden from the cell phone cameras that had been trained on the scene. Brett's worried face filled her vision as she checked her neck for injury.

"Talk to me, Becky." Brett said, carefully feeling along the sides of Becca's neck, "Are you okay?"

Becca blinked, snapping herself out of her haze. Instinctively, she pulled away from the medic, shaking her head, "Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Totally good." She took a step back, "Thought I was worth more than fifty grand and a plane ticket. …Let's get the hell outta here."

 **…**

He couldn't tell if she was asleep in the recliner or just faking it. She'd been watching TV with Herrmann, but after the first ten minutes of the evening news – which had included a fairly decent cell phone video of her harrowing escape – she had turned away from the screen, curled herself into a tight ball, and closed her eyes. _Jeopardy_ was on now, and she had yet to move. He'd been watching her off and on, checking on her, wondering what was going on in her head. She had the exact same problem that he had; she couldn't make herself stop thinking. Like him, her mind was always going, always analyzing, always planning, always running what-ifs, always meandering down random paths, always, _always_ going. It was maddening at times. Knowing her like he did, he was fairly certain that she'd already come up with at least fifty ways that she could've altogether avoided the situation with the intoxicated man, at least fifty ways that she could've gotten out of that situation faster than she did, and at least a thousand ways that she could've died. Knowing her like he did, he knew that she was more than likely just feigning sleep in order to keep people away long enough for her mind to complete the reprocessing of the event and return to some semblance of controlled chaos.

His eyes flicked to the TV long enough to watch one contestant answer two questions correctly before they drifted back to his friend. She looked cold. And uncomfortable. Why didn't she just go to bed? And then, he saw it – that slight little indent right between her lips that he'd only seen once before when a member of her old house had died in the line of duty and she was trying to keep it together at the funeral. She was biting the inside of her bottom lip to keep herself from crying.

Unable to stand it any longer, he got up from his spot at Truck's table and went to her, unzipping his jacket as he did. He couldn't take her to his office so that she could let out her trauma in peace. He couldn't hug her tightly and tell her how grateful he was that she hadn't been harmed like she had hugged him when he'd returned to Molly's after the incident at Stilettos. He couldn't hold her and tell her that everything was going to be fine like she'd held him at the hospital in the wee hours of the morning when Dawson had miscarried and he'd finally broken into tears. They were at work, and work was…well…different. It sucked to not be able to comfort his friend as she had comforted him in his times of distress. He knew that she was in shock – she had to be – and he knew that she needed someone to reassure her that she was safe and that everything was going to be okay. He couldn't do that the way that he truly wanted to. He _could_ , however, do this. It wasn't much, but hopefully it would be enough for now. Carefully, he draped his jacket over her and tucked it snugly around her shoulders. As he did this, he could feel eleven sets of eyes burning into his back. Was it the best move to make here in public? No. Did he care? Nope. She was his friend and he cared about her, and there was nothing in the handbook that said that he couldn't give her his jacket to warm her up. There were times when Shay had practically lived in Severide's jacket and no one had said anything about it. Without a word, he headed down the hallway to his office; he had paperwork to catch up on.

The jacket was warm and soft and smelled like him. It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to her. She should've known that he could see right through her "sleeping". She'd been okay for the remainder of the day, but seeing that video of the man holding her hostage had caused the entire event to replay in her mind. It had gotten to her, and she hadn't wanted anyone to see that, so she'd balled herself up and pretended to go to sleep until she could get herself together. She should've known that her little charade wouldn't fool her friend.

Snuggling into Casey's jacket, Becca breathed in his scent, pretending for a few moments that he was holding her instead of the garment. This thing was downright cozy, honestly. She could see why he wore it so much. _He ain't gettin' this back tonight._ she thought with a tiny grin. Her back was starting to hurt. It was early, but she was ready for bed. Not that sleep would come, but she needed to at least try. Time to "wake up."

Unfolding slowly and adding a stretch and a yawn for good measure, she did her best to act sleepy as she gave his jacket her best curious squint. Standing stiffly, she stretched and yawned once again before slipping into Casey's jacket and pulling it tightly around herself as she shuffled out of the break room toward the bunks.

If looks could kill, the glare that Dawson shot at her as she passed could've taken an entire herd of elephants out.

…

Author's Note: Yes, I know that Becca's escape was highly improbable. I spent a good hour acting it out with a Nerf gun and my husband, who refused to act like he was inebriated and instead found every possible way to keep me "hostage" despite my best efforts to "escape". For the sake of dramatic effect, roll with it. And just so you know, Nerf darts have a pretty good sting at point blank range.


	3. Dry Toast

**5:00 a.m.**

"Are you eating _dry_ toast?"

Becca grinned at Casey as he poured himself a cup of the coffee that she had just made. "Want some? I'll fix it for you."

He shook his head, making a disgusted face at her, "I'm good, thanks. You don't want any butter, or jelly, or…something?" She was wearing his jacket like she owned it. He'd checked on her last night and discovered her curled up in her bunk, wrapped tightly in his jacket, her face hidden beneath the navy blue fabric.

"Honey, I can toast an entire loaf of bread and hotbox it without so much as a scrape of butter."

"Gross." He took a slow drink, briefly closing his eyes and sighing contentedly as the perfectly-heated liquid warmed his body. Morning coffee was the nectar of the gods. "Did anyone tell you we're going out for breakfast after shift?"

She shook her head, lowering her half-eaten piece of toast onto her napkin. Not that a few pieces of toast would keep her from eating an actual breakfast, but it would've been nice if someone had said something to her before now.

"You should come."

She shrugged, "Okay." A team breakfast sounded fun. It would give her a chance to relax and get to know her new coworkers a little better.

Being as quiet as he could, he pulled the chair across from her back from the table and sat down, "Since when do you have glasses?"

Embarrassed, Becca tried to look thoughtful, praying he wouldn't notice that her right lens was considerably thicker than her left lens, "Since I was a freshman in high school." Suddenly feeling the need to elaborate, she explained, "I don't usually wear 'em while I'm on the clock, but my allergies were buggin' me, so I had to take my contacts out. Springtime pollen, y'know?"

Seeing her discomfort, Casey gave her a soft smile, "I like them."

"Really?" She was genuinely surprised. She _hated_ being reliant on her glasses and contacts, but her insurance wouldn't pay for corrective surgery and she damn sure wasn't paying for it out of pocket, so she was stuck.

"Yeah. You should wear them more often."

She chuckled, "I'll think about it." That probably wasn't a bad idea. Her optometrist had chided her for wearing her contacts too much the last time she'd had a checkup. Which had been…when? Had she gotten her eyes checked since she'd moved up here? Crap. Probably not. Ugh – yet another thing to add to her endless To-Do List…

For a moment, he just looked at her, memorizing the shape of her face, the way her hair fell around her shoulders, the gentleness of her emerald green eyes… He'd realized yesterday just how much he really cared about her. It was crazy to think that a split second could've resulted in her not being here at all.

Suddenly shy, Becca looked down at her piece of toast. Why was he looking at her like that? It was like he was seeing her for the first time. Or the last.

"Yesterday was pretty crazy." he started carefully, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." she lied. She'd been awake most of the night, either staring into the darkness or hiding behind his jacket, contemplating her own mortality. Being firmly encased in his jacket had kept her from having a complete breakdown, but still… No fire, no natural disaster, no accident scene, no medical call had ever scared her like this. She'd fallen through floors, crawled through tornado-twisted debris looking for survivors, stumbled down smoke-choked hallways, helped deliver a baby that was coming way too early in the back of an ambulance that was flying down a gravel road, slogged through muck and mud to help rescue a horse that had gotten stuck after heavy rains, waded through flood-swollen creeks and streams to help stranded families to safety, wiggled herself into smashed vehicles to keep a patient still while her comrades cut the ruined metal away, and so much more, but none of it had rattled her quite like the feeling of having a gun barrel against her head.

"Look at me and say that."

When she lifted her eyes to his, she found herself struck once again by how handsome he was. "I'm fine." she insisted, trying to convince the both of them that it was true.

Casey held his pinkie finger out to her, "Promise?"

Becca couldn't help but smile as she locked her finger with his, "Promise."

"You're a terrible liar." He took a sip of his coffee and decided to change the subject, "So…what's your story? I know the Chicago Rebecca Miller. I want to know the Kentucky Rebecca Miller."

She chuckled, "Ain't much to tell." There really wasn't. She had – in her opinion – lived a relatively unremarkable life.

"I'll be the judge of that." he grinned.

Shooting him a smile that could only be described as flirty, she challenged, "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. I want to know the _real_ Matt Casey."

He shrugged, "Deal."

Well, she hadn't exactly been expecting that. Casey was _not_ one to delve into his past, especially with someone like her who was just a friend. Wow. Maybe she _had_ made some progress with him. "Well, I hope you're not lookin' for a sob story, Lieutenant, cause I ain't got one. I grew up in on a farm in Pulaski County. My cousins and I used to go fishin' after school and splash around in the creek that ran between my uncle's property and my grandparents' farm."

Casey watched as a happy, faraway look slipped over Becca's face while she reminisced, her accent coming out in full flair. Smiling to himself, he settled back into his chair and let her words and memories wash over him.

"We'd jump frogs and look for water dogs and try to see how many minnas we could catch barehanded. When we got old enough, we'd go huntin' with my uncle and papaw. Mamaw wasn't too crazy 'bout us girls goin', but we didn't care and my aunt was all for it. We'd race our bikes up and down the road for hours on end." – she chuckled – "It's a thousand wonders we didn't get killed; my aunt dug no tellin' how much gravel outa our knees. I've still got scars. We rode in the bed of papaw's pickup all the way to Stanford and Somerset many a time. I used to go with papaw to the stockyards every chance I got whether we had a load of cattle or not.

"My grandparents promised me they'd buy me a truck if I graduated from high school with straight A's. I kept a four-point-oh all four years and graduated with honors. Been drivin' that truck out there ever since. Mamaw wanted me to be a school teacher and papaw wanted me to be a nurse like my aunt, but my uncle had been takin' me and my cousins with him every week to the firehouse down the road for as long as I could remember. We'd climb around on the trucks while the guys trained, and when we got old enough, we joined the Explorer program. Mamaw 'bout died when I told her I wanted to be a firefighter." She chuckled, "I had a great childhood."

"What brought you to Chicago?" he asked.

"Money." she answered simply, "Retirement. I plan on workin' up here and savin' everything I can so that I can retire comfortably and move back home. My uncle's been keepin' up the farm since my grandparents passed away; I plan on buyin' out his half when I'm able. Right now, I'm helpin' with the expenses of keepin' it up, but one day I'd like to have the whole thing."

"What about your parents?"

There it was – the question that she always dreaded. Should she skirt around it like she always did, or should she be honest with her friend? She didn't like talking about her parents; it was quite humiliating. She'd never told anyone at her old house about her parents and had made quite an effort to keep that particular bit of information to herself. But, Casey was different. If everything that she'd heard about his past was true, then he of all people would understand how hard it was to talk about certain things.

He could tell that he'd hit a nerve, "You don't have to answer that."

She sighed, "No, I do. Nobody in Chicago knows about my parents, so if you'd keep this between us, I'd appreciate it." When he nodded, she continued, "My mom signed me over to my grandparents on the day I was born, told 'em she didn't want me. …She didn't even bother to name me. My grandparents named me after their mothers. That's why my middle name's Irene… I've seen her maybe three times in my whole life. Last I heard, she was in jail on drug charges. That was right before I moved up here, though…. As for my dad, well…" She fidgeted a little, uncomfortable but determined to get this out, "Your guess is as good as mine. I don't know his name, what he looks like, where he lives, whether or not I have siblings, nothin'. My mom didn't list him on my birth certificate. …I'm not really sure if _she_ knows who he is."

Well, _that_ wasn't the answer that he'd been expecting. He'd been expecting something like death or divorce, not "my mom didn't want me and I don't know who my dad is." He could tell by the hint of pain on her face that it had been very difficult for her to reveal that part of her past. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that."

Becca shrugged, "It's okay. You're my friend; I trust you with it."

"Must've been hard to deal with."

"In a way, it was." she admitted, "I still get mad over it sometimes. But, when I think about what _could've_ happened to me, and when I think about all the people who tried _really_ hard to give me a good life…it's hard to be angry or sad about it. My aunt and uncle included me in just about everything they did, and my grandparents _absolutely_ busted it in order to provide me with the best life possible. I had a phenomenal childhood, I never wanted for nothin', I now have my own place and I pay my own bills, my truck's well past paid for, I'm workin' my dream job with people I love like family, and…" – she grinned at him – "I'm enjoyin' a peaceful mornin' with a real good friend. I can't be upset over anything; I'm blessed beyond measure."

Casey smiled, "That's a really good way to think about it."

"Life's too short to be anything other than happy." She picked up her piece of toast, preparing to take a bite, "Your turn."

 **…**

"Damnit." Casey groaned, letting his forehead drop to his steering wheel as he pulled his key from his truck's ignition. His battery was as dead as a doornail. He'd meant to get a new one before this last shift, but he'd forgotten. Seveide had given him a jump yesterday morning, and he'd meant to grab a battery during shift, but…he'd forgotten again. This morning, he'd lingered for a moment and talked with Chief Boden while everyone else had headed to their respective vehicles and gone to the diner for the breakfast meet-up, leaving Casey and his dead battery behind. He was _not_ going back inside to ask for help – first watch would never let him live it down. Christie was at work today, too. Great. Just great. So…here he was…stuck.

A horn honked beside him, startling him enough to make him jump. A big, black, square-bodied, late-nineties Silverado had pulled up beside him and turned its emergency flashers on. The darkly-tinted passenger side window lowered slowly, revealing a very concerned looking Rebecca Miller. Unable to roll his window down, Casey heaved a sigh and got out of his truck.

"You okay?" Becca asked, leaning toward him as he leaned against her door.

"Yeah." Crap, this was embarrassing. Defeated, he flipped one hand toward his truck, "My battery's shot. I meant to get one yesterday, and I just…forgot."

Giving him a sympathetic smile, she grabbed her overnight bag and tossed it into the back seat, "Hop in. We'll go eat breakfast, then I'll take you to Auto Zone."

Casey shook his head, "Becca, I can't ask you to do that."

She motioned for him to get in, "You ain't askin' – I'm offerin'. C'mon."

He hesitated for a moment before giving in, "Let me lock up."

Becca waited patiently as he locked his drivers side door. She knew how badly men hated to ask for help, especially when it came to vehicles, so it was a good thing that she'd taken a couple of extra minutes to oil her squeaky locker door this morning.

"That's two I owe you." Casey sighed as he climbed into her truck for the second time this week.

She chuckled, turning her flashers off and heading toward the diner that the crews had agreed to meet at, "Friends don't keep score, Lieutenant."

 **…**

Author's Note: So, I realize that I may need to translate Becca from time to time since I know that most of you are neither Southern nor Kentuckians. I'm writing in my "native language", if you will, when Becca speaks. "Minnas" are minnows – small fish that are commonly used as fishing bait. "Water dogs" are a type of salamander commonly found around creeks and streams. Please don't hesitate to ask if I need to elaborate on something for you. I have to translate myself for my husband from time to time, and we grew up in neighboring counties. Busy season is upon us at work, so expect delays here and there. (Did busy season ever stop?) I will most likely be grumpy from getting up at 3 a.m. for days on end, sore from literally running in circles between my three machines, and far beyond exhausted. Be prepared. On the plus side, my paychecks are gonna be _sweet_. Chapter four is in the works. Let the flames begin!


	4. Never Kissed Me Goodnight

"In other news, the video of Chicago firefighter Rebecca Miller escaping from a deranged man has gone viral..."

The news anchor continued, but Becca had already tuned her out. _Why_ did they have to run the same story over and over again? That was yesterday's news – it was over with and done! You couldn't tell her that there was absolutely _nothing_ _else_ worthy of being covered by the media in a city this big. "Ain't they got nothin' better to talk about?" she grumbled, embarrassedly sinking down into her seat a little and poking at her pancakes with her fork.

"Well...they could discuss that hat of yours and how it's not allowed here in this city." Herrmann grinned from across the yellow-and-blue booth table, trying to make her feel better. He was talking about her Cincinnati Bengals hat, which was temporarily perched on her left knee while they were eating.

Becca couldn't help but smile at him. The guys were always giving her a hard time about being a Bengals fan. "Who Dey?"

"Yeah, what happened to 'Dey' against the Steelers during that last game?" Capp teased from the booth beside them.

She shook her head, sighing in disgust, "I have no words for that."

"Oh I do." Otis chuckled, remembering how they'd mercilessly harassed Becca after Cincinnati's spectacular last-minute loss to Pittsburgh during the AFC wild card playoff game, "Plenty of words."

Becca threw her wadded-up straw wrapper at him, "It's a new season now, time for a fresh start. Only a hundred and eighty-seven days to go."

"And only three hundred and thirty-seven more days until Cincinnati misses _another_ Super Bowl." Casey grinned.

She playfully smacked his shoulder, pretending to be indignant, "Whose side are _you_ on?"

"The winning side." Otis laughed, fist bumping Casey across the table.

"The Bengals beat the Bears last season." Brett pointed out, "By eleven points."

"Thank you, Brett." Becca gave her a grateful nod, "It's nice to know that _somebody_ has my back around here."

Dawson raised an eyebrow at the blonde, "Since when do you watch football?"

Brett held up her phone, "I Googled it."

Severide gave Becca an inquisitive look, "I thought Kentuckians were rabid basketball fans."

Scrunching her nose, Becca shook her head as she stabbed her pancakes, "Not this one. I _hate_ basketball; it's much ado about nothin'."

"We're trying to introduce her to hockey, Lieutenant." Cruz piped, "She's not being very receptive."

"Hockey makes no sense." Becca argued around a bite.

"Hockey makes more sense than NASCAR does." Cruz countered.

"Dude, NASCAR makes perfect sense!"

"How? It's just a bunch of guys driving around in circles!"

"And hockey is just a bunch of guys in ice skates chasin' a chunk of rubber with _sticks_!"

Casey settled back into his seat, enjoying the humorous banter between the teammates. This was nice. All three crews were crammed into two booths and a table, laughing and talking amongst themselves. He was sitting between Cruz and Becca and across from Herrmann and Otis. Jimmy and Brett shared the table with Tony and Mouch, and Severide, Capp, Kidd, and Dawson were in the other booth. It was a very average, ordinary, unremarkable thing, but it was an escape for them, a brief moment in time in which they weren't risking life and limb and flirting with death itself. It was a small little span of space that didn't involve lives hanging in the balance. It was lighthearted, relaxing, and just plain fun. It was nice to be able to escape reality for a while.

For a moment, he watched Becca as she listened to Herrmann dramatically recall a wild tale from his younger days as a firefighter. She was laughing, knowing full well that most of Herrmann's story was heavily embellished. He loved to hear her laugh just as much as he loved to hear her talk. How in the world had his path managed to cross with hers? He felt like he'd known her forever, even though it had only been three years. It felt good to be sitting here beside her, feeling her body shaking as she laughed, her knee continuously bumping against his, the warmth of her body mixing with his… Sometimes you come across people during your lifetime that you just click with. He'd clicked with her. …Perhaps a bit more than he'd realized at first.

Catching Casey's stare and still laughing, Becca nudged him playfully, making him smile. It was a big smile that lit his entire face, the kind that she hadn't seen in a _very_ long time. She'd missed those smiles terribly. Seeing it made her tremendously happy.

Looking away before someone got the wrong idea, Casey let his eyes roam casually back toward the TV just in time to see yet another attack ad by Alderman Becks. His smile vanished immediately. This ad featured each of the billboards and fliers that had been issued by the Becks camp before flashing to a stately photo of Becks himself as the voice actor rambled off a list of reasons to vote for "the better man."

Noticing that Casey's attention had been completely drawn away from the group, Becca followed his gaze to the TV screen and the attack ad that was playing. Anger rose quickly within her. She'd had more than enough of Alderman Becks and his mudslinging; that joker needed to go. Seeing the brief flickers of hurt and anger that crossed Casey's face, she leaned into her friend and murmured, "Fuck him."

He'd heard her curse before, but he'd never heard her drop an f-bomb. It was more than enough to pull his attention away from the final seconds of Becks' ad.

"You've got this." she continued, "Don't let that jackass get to you."

 **….**

Closing time was five minutes ago. He'd tried to get here sooner, but he just hadn't been able to get away from the meet-and-greet in time. The lights inside the bar were dim, but still on, and her truck was still parked across the street. Good. It was late and he knew she had to be exhausted by now, but…he really wanted to see her. Just for a minute. He'd been thinking about her all day, and he needed to ask her something. Finding the spare key that Herrmann had given him, he unlocked the door.

She was sweeping the floor, singing along to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers' _Mary Jane's Last Dance_. Her glasses were nowhere to be found, which was kind of disappointing. Still though, she looked good in her Levis, cowboy boots, and long sleeved red flannel shirt, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders. As soon as she heard the door creak open, she dropped her broom and spun around, her right hand instinctively darting to her side.

"It's just me." Casey said, lifting his hands to show that he was unarmed.

Becca sighed, relaxing as she lowered the hem of her shirt over the black holster that sat snugly against her hip, "Sorry, Lieutenant. I forgot you had a key."

"It's okay." He should've told her that he was coming instead of startling her like that; she was still jumpy after yesterday's incident. "Are you here alone?" He hadn't thought to look for anyone else's vehicle.

"No – Otis and Dawson are countin' in the back. I dunno when they'll be done; we were busy tonight for it to be snowin' like it is." Quickly, she picked up her broom, swept her dirt pile into the dustpan, and headed behind the bar for the trashcan that she had yet to empty, "How was your meet-n-greet thing?"

He sighed wearily as he locked the door and followed her, "I hate those damn things."

She chuckled, "You best be gettin' used to 'em – you win this election 'n that'll be all you do on Frid'y night."

"Don't remind me." He leaned against the cool wood of the bar, tired from the evening of pretending that he liked those uppity people who thought they were all that and a bag of chips just because they had the money to sway an election. Faintly, he could still smell the lemon-scented cleaner that she'd used to wash the bar down.

She lowered the radio's volume before turning it off for the night, propped her broom against the back of the bar, and crossed her arms over her chest, cocking her head to one side, "This isn't your usual night."

He shrugged, "I wanted to see you for a minute. I hope I don't get you in trouble."

Becca gave him an I-could-care-less look, "She'll get over it."

Casey chuckled, amused by her sass, "If you say so."

She turned around and grabbed a nearly-empty bottle of Makers Mark and a shot glass, "I don't really give two shits what she thinks anymore, Lieutenant. You know that." She'd been civil with Dawson since the breakup, but everyone knew whose side she'd taken. In an effort to keep the peace and out of respect for Casey, she'd kept her mouth shut. She popped the spout out of it and poured half of the remaining contents of the bottle – which amounted to less than half of a shot – into the glass and handed it to him, "Cheers."

"Cheers." He clinked his glass against the bottle and watched her down her half in one swig without even bothering to pour it into a glass. She held the liquid in her mouth for just a moment, savoring the taste before swallowing. Grinning, he shook his head and drank his half. The burn that followed the bourbon was oddly comforting. "So," he began, sliding his empty glass across to her, "When are you gonna stop calling me 'Lieutenant'?"

Becca paused for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. She'd always called him Lieutenant, _always_. She'd done the same thing for Severide; it was simply out of respect to their ranks. Whether she was on the clock or not, she'd always referred to any officer by their title instead of their name. She'd done it back home, too. From a very young age, her uncle had ingrained in her the importance of being respectful to officers, and she wasn't sure that she could break that habit. "What do you want me to call you?" she asked slowly.

Seeing that he'd thrown her for a loop, he gave her a soft smile, "Matt would be nice."

Wow, first name basis. _That_ was new. "…Okay, but you gotta give me a little wiggle room; that's gonna be a hard habit to break."

He chuckled, "I know." Once again, the lights in this place were working their magic, playing gently off of her hair and skin, and making her eyes shine despite the fact that she was obviously tired. As usual, she didn't have a trace of makeup on. She was looking at him like he was the most important person in the universe.

Smiling, Becca leaned against the bar, "It's good to see you smilin' again. And laughin'. I'd really been missin' that." Carefully, cautiously, she took his right hand, gently rubbing her thumb over his warm skin, "I worry about you."

"I know." This wasn't the first time that she'd taken his hand. The first time, he'd been falling apart at the hospital. The first time, he'd clung to her, desperately trying to hang on to his sanity as his entire world crumbled. The first time, he hadn't noticed how good her hand felt. He noticed now. "I'm better than I was the other day."

She could feel the callouses, scars, rough patches, and bumps from old injuries that covered his hand, evidence of many years of construction work and fighting fires. She'd always loved the way his hands felt. "Yeah, but I still worry." She gave him a gentle squeeze, "Wouldn't care about'cha if I didn't worry."

Gently, he closed his fingers around hers, deciding that now was the time to ask the question that had brought him to Molly's after hours, "You know what you should do?"

She grinned, "What?"

He'd practiced this conversation over and over in his head today. He'd honestly been just a little nervous when he'd gotten here, but one look from her had calmed any uncertainties. "You should let me take you out sometime soon. Maybe a movie or something? Nothing fancy, just us."

Her grin slowly broadened into a smile, "Seriously?" For real? Like, for really real? _He_ wanted to take _her_ out? A good, kind, honest man who wasn't either drunk or looking for an easy piece of tail was asking her out. She needed to stop by a convenient store on the way home and buy a lottery ticket, because this was her lucky day.

He'd thrown her for another loop. Casey chuckled, "Yeah."

"I'd like that." she answered honestly. She'd only been on a handful of dates since she'd moved to Chicago, and they had been less than noteworthy. It would be nice to go somewhere with someone that she knew and trusted. Especially someone like him. Men like Matt Casey – _real_ men – were quickly becoming few and far between.

He gave her one of his trademark smiles, "Good."

Smiling shyly, Becca carefully laced her fingers through his, "You look really good in a suit."

His face reddened a little at the unexpected complement, "Thank you."

"I like you better in Class A's, but the suit's really nice, too."

At this, he laughed. Hearing Dawson and Otis talking towards the back of the bar, he decided to prevent an incident before it even had a chance to occur and nodded toward the trashcan, "I'll take the trash out for you." Reluctantly, he drew his hand away from hers.

She shook her head, "I can get it; I don't want you to get anything on you." Crap – Otis and Dawson were coming! That meant her moment with Casey was over. But, maybe…just maybe…she could hold his hand again when they went on their date. Quickly, she added the empty bourbon bottle to a box of empty bottles that sat beneath the bar. Once it was full enough, she would take them home, clean them up, and either make them into lamps or sell them online.

"I'll get it." He stepped easily behind the bar and tied off the trash bag before tugging it out of the can, "It's pretty cold out there tonight."

"Thank you." Quickly, she grabbed the shot glass and spout and followed him to the back, intending to quickly wash both before it was time to leave.

They nearly collided with Otis and Dawson as they rounded the corner.

"Whoa!" Otis exclaimed, managing to stop before he slammed into Casey, "Hey, Lieutenant. What're you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to Becca for a minute." Casey answered smoothly, quickly maneuvering around the pair and continuing toward the back door. "Figured I'd take the trash out while I was here."

Without a word, Becca moved to the sink and quickly washed out the spout, making a mental note to pay Otis for two shots. She didn't want to do it here in front of Dawson, didn't want to get anything started.

Dawson watched her as she started to wash the glass, "You miss one?"

"Yeah." Becca lied, carefully placing the glass onto a prong in the drying rack beside the spout, "My bad."

That was a lie and Dawson knew it. She'd worked with Becca long enough to know that the woman had a closing routine that was executed with military precision. She had a certain order in which she did things based on how long each task took. If she had someone else closing with her, the tasks were divided evenly. Becca _never_ missed a glass. Or a spout. Ever. And why was Casey here? What did he need to talk to Becca about at _this_ hour? Couldn't it wait until tomorrow? …Why did she care, anyway? They were over with and done. What – and who – he did in his spare time was his business now.

" _Man_ , that wind is rough!" Casey exclaimed as he hurried back inside, quickly closing and locking the door behind himself.

"I hate winter." Becca grumbled, drying her hands on a nearby towel.

"You guys ready?" Dawson asked, well past being ready to go home. A bubble bath was calling her name, and she did _not_ want to keep it waiting any longer. Without waiting for an answer, she headed for the front door, grabbing her coat and purse from the rack as she exited the back room.

Otis grabbed his coat and waited for a moment while Becca got her coat and purse down, "I can ride with Dawson if you need me to."

Becca shook her head as she slid into her big, brown, well-worn C.E. Schmitt work jacket, "Ain't no sense in you ridin' with her when I go right past your place." Quickly, she stuffed her jeans down into her boots to keep the snow and slush away.

"Are you sure?" He _hated_ asking for a ride, but Cruz had needed the car tonight, so he'd had no choice.

"Yes, darlin', I am sure." As they stepped out into the snowy night and waited for Dawson to lock up, the frigid Chicago air hit Becca like a slap in the face, making her grunt and tug her hood as far over her head as it would go.

Instinctively, Casey put his back to the wind and stood as close to Becca as he could without actually touching her, shielding her from the cold. Once the door was locked, he offered her his arm before they stepped out into the slushy streets. She'd fallen in the ice last year, and although her body hadn't been injured, her pride had been.

Fall _one_ time in front of…well…everyone…and now she was being offered an arm for support. Had it been anyone other than Casey, she would've declined the assistance, but she wasn't about to pass this opportunity up. First she gets asked out by an honestly decent man, then she gets to hold said man's hand in a non-world-shattering setting, and now he was busting out the old-school chivalry! Hot damn, she needed to buy a lottery ticket! Carefully masking her delight, she threaded her arm through his, "Thanks."

He grinned at her, glad that she had decided to hang on to him instead of going it alone. Before he knew it, they were at her truck.

Quickly, she unlocked the doors and started the engine. Otis climbed into the passenger side grateful for the escape from the cold. Dawson lingered long enough for her wipers to clear the snow from her windshield before she left. Becca shut her door and turned to bid Casey farewell.

"Let me know when you get home." Casey said.

She gave him a teasing smile, "You worried about me, Lieutenant?" Dangit – she'd called him Lieutenant again!

He chuckled, deciding to let her slip-up go, and did his best impression of her, "Wouldn't care about'cha if I didn't worry."

Her smile softened as she realized that he meant those words as much as she did, "I'll be careful. You let me know when you get home, too, okay?"

"I will."

"I'll come lookin' for ya if ya don't."

Her words were said in a joking tone, but he knew that she would. "I'll text you."

"You better." She gave him a quick hug and pressed an even quicker kiss into his right cheek, "Be safe, honey."

"You, too." This wasn't the first time she'd kissed him. It wasn't even the second or third time, honestly. But, it _was_ the first time that she'd kissed him without it being a gesture of comfort during some kind of crisis. This time, his cheek stayed warm where her lips had been.

Before they lingered long enough to arouse suspicion, Becca gave him a little wave and climbed into her cab. She flipped her headlights on, providing him with a decently-illuminated path to his truck.

Otis was watching her from the passenger seat, a sly grin on his face. "Lucy," he said in imitation of Desi Arnaz, "You got some s'plainin' to do."

Crap! He'd seen her! Dangit! She should've known better than to do that in front of him! "We're just friends, Otis." she replied smoothly.

He laughed as she pulled away from her parking spot, "Y'know, we've been friends for three years now. _I_ consider us to be _very_ good friends. And you know what? In those three years, you have _never_ kissed _me_ goodnight."

Smiling despite her embarrassment, Becca reached across the seat and gave him a friendly shove, "Shut up, Otis."

 **…**

Author's Note: Apologies for the delay. This was supposed to be kind of a transitional chapter, but I've cut and hacked it to bits, copied and pasted it back together, and then viciously went through it with a chainsaw. I'm sorry if it was awkward and hard to read. I'm not really sure what happened; somehow this one just didn't want to cooperate. Hopefully the next chapter will be smoother… Anyway, I am tremendously upset with Dawson after what she said to Casey at Mouch and Platt's wedding. I'm not a fan of hers, and I'm not a fan of Dawsey. Sorry not sorry.

Thanks to Ems, Pallada, and my guest for the reviews. Thanks also to Just Me FD, , ala25ala, blacksparrow125, ItsJustBecca, Em-x. everlasting, BGio89, P.J.T.R.B., sarahmichellegellarfan1, Natalya Rose, Lisasa, LauraCsn, Abritishchick, SlvrSrpnt, Gryffindor4eva, auryalbuquerque, sophiexrivers, Wsmith54, casslynnex3, nightsinshadow, SophieLove21093, and kfbowman2000 for the follows/favorites. Y'all rock.


	5. Borrow a Couch

**Fair Warning:** Things escalate pretty quickly here. If you're not into that, you might wanna sit this one out.

…

" _Kelly! Oh! Kel-ly!"_

Dear sweet mother of all things holy, he could _still_ hear them! He had two pillows and a blanket piled on top of his head and he could _still_ hear whatever the hell it was that Severide and his bed buddy were doing. The neighbors were going to be furious. They would have an eviction notice by morning, he'd bet money on it. He was honestly surprised that someone wasn't pounding on the door already. For all he knew, someone was – not that he could hear them over the racket.

He couldn't stand this any longer. Burrowing out of his pile of sound buffers, he flipped his phone over and checked the time. It was 2:30 a.m. He could go to a hotel…somewhere. That would be expensive with everything that was going on in town this weekend. Worth it if he could find a room, but expensive nonetheless. He didn't really feel like gong to a hotel, though. Maybe he could stay with one of the guys. Who would be up at this hour? Opening his contacts, he scrolled through the names, dismissing each one as soon as it came up. The Herrmann household was dark by 9:00 p.m. at the absolute latest when Herrmann wasn't at Molly's. Otis and Cruz were a definite no, as was Mouch. Jimmy was a maybe. Chief Boden's household had become just like Herrmann's when the baby had been born, so that was another no. He paused on a name as Severide's houseguest moaned loudly. It was a long shot, but he _had_ to get out of this apartment. He hated bothering people late at night – or, in this case, the early morning – but he just couldn't stand it anymore. Squinting against the blue light that his phone emitted, he clicked on the message bubble beneath the name and typed _I'm sorry, I know it's late. Are you still up?_ and hit 'Send'.

Seconds later, a reply came. _You can't sleep either, huh?_

 _Can I call you?_

 _Sure._

He clicked back to the contact page and tapped on the phone number.

She answered on the first ring, "Hey, hon-"

" _Kelly! I'm gonna – !"_ Severide's visitor screamed as she reached yet another climax.

He could practically hear her flinching, "Holy shit! Is that Severide's woman?"

"Yes." he growled, fighting the urge to gag as Severide cried out, "This has been going on since I got home."

It was all she could do to keep from laughing, "Bless your heart. Would you like to borrow a couch?"

"Please." He could hear them giggling like school children. Really? Giggling? After _that_? Most people would be cuddling and murmuring romantic nonsense to each other right now.

This time, she did chuckle a little, "Pack y'self a couple'a changes of clothes, sweetheart; you can stay with me until next shift."

 **...**

It had been a while since he'd been to her place. She lived _way_ out in the suburbs about halfway down a quiet street that was lined with probably twenty houses which had been built between 1950 and 1970. Most of the residents were either elderly or quickly reaching retirement age. Aside from the older population, there were maybe two households with high school-aged children, one with elementary school-aged children, and then Becca. Becca's house had been built in early 1970, and Casey had done some work for her about two years ago. Nothing major – her house was nice and solid – just updating, replacing, and repairing a few things here and there. It felt strange to be pulling into her driveway in the dark without a bunch of tools and supplies in tow.

The porch light came on as soon as he killed his engine. It flickered several times and almost went out as he dragged his overnight bag out of his truck. _I need to fix that._ he found himself thinking while he crunched through the snow to her carport, _Before it shorts out and burns the place down._

She was waiting for him in old gray yoga pants (which he was fairly certain had _never_ been used for yoga), brown suede house shoes, and a well-worn navy NRA t-shirt, her hair yanked up into a sloppy ponytail, glasses on her face. A small tortoise-shell-colored cat was rubbing against her left leg. "Hey." she smiled, opening the screen door.

"Hey." Casey kicked the concrete step hard, knocking the snow from his boots before hurrying into her living room, wishing he'd put on jeans instead of leaving in sweatpants. It was _cold_. Thankfully, her house was toasty. "I'm really sorry about this. I didn't know who else to call." He shut her heavy front door behind himself and locked both the doorknob and deadbolt before sliding the chain across and giving the door a final nudge to make sure everything had caught properly – in that exact order – earning himself a look of approval. He'd done it right this time, which meant it wouldn't need to be double-checked. Becca was a little particular about the order in which certain things were done.

She gave him a dismissive wave, "It's fine, honey. Really." Smiling softly, she added, "Kinda nice to have comp'ny. 'Specially on a night like this."

He smiled as he sat his bag down, shed his wet boots into the plastic boot tray behind the door, and hung his coat on the rack above the tray. She'd never admitted to it – and she never would – but he knew she got lonely. Did she ever get scared here all by herself? The suburbs were safer than the downtown area and a hell of a lot safer than certain neighborhoods, but still… This was her first house, and she'd never had a roommate. Having an entire house all to yourself was different than having a small apartment all to yourself. He didn't like the idea of her being scared.

Casey looked good in his navy CFD sweatpants and white t-shirt, his hair all mussed up instead of carefully combed into place. She thought he looked good in anything, though. Sweatpants, dirt-and-sawdust-covered jeans and a sweaty t-shirt, ash-covered bunker gear, his business suit, his Class A dress uniform, anything. For a moment, she allowed herself to think about how good he would look stretched out on her couch.

The cat strolled over to Casey at a leisurely pace and rubbed against his legs, catching his attention. Pausing, he reached down to pet it, "Hello there. I don't think I've met you yet."

"She showed up back in…oh…" Becca counted backward, realizing that more time had passed than she'd realized since her furry housemate had come into her life, "I think it was in October of fourteen, not long after we redid the floor in the kitchen." She smiled at the memory of how her cat had been a barely-weaned kitten when she'd shown up at her doorstep almost two years ago, "She was the tiniest little thing, and I felt bad for her."

Casey grinned as the cat purred loudly when he found the sweet spot behind her ear, "What's her name?"

"Cat."

At this, he looked up at her, "Seriously? You named your cat 'Cat'?"

She nodded.

He raised an eyebrow sarcastically, "That's super original."

Becca shrugged, "It works."

He shook his head before straightening himself and motioning toward the darkened freshwater fish tank that stood against the adjacent wall, "That's new, too." A few small dark shapes drifted around lazily inside the tank. Cat meandered casually into the kitchen to find her food bowl.

She grinned proudly at her tank, "I set it up last year. You'll be able to see it better in the morning when I turn the light back on; it's 'nighttime' for them right now."

Casey chuckled. The thought of 'nighttime' for fish was entirely too funny at this hour. He was tired, and the pillow and blanket that Becca had laid out for him on her couch looked delightful. For just a moment, he studied her, noting the same tired look in her eyes that she'd had at Molly's earlier. She looked like she hadn't slept at all since their shift had ended. He knew she was still thinking about that guy, still running the event through her head and picking it apart with a fine-toothed comb, still kicking herself for letting her guard down. _He_ was still thinking about it, still analyzing it, and still kicking _himself_ for not reacting quickly enough. They were gonna make themselves crazy if they didn't stop. He wanted to make her stop. He wanted to wipe the whole event from her mind. He wanted to calm her fears. He wanted to keep her safe. He wanted…he just wanted to hold her and tell her that everything was fine now. Without saying a word, he stepped over to her and pulled her into a gentle hug.

Becca surrendered to his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek on his shoulder. She needed this. She'd been needing this since yesterday, and she was grateful for his attentiveness. A heavy, weary sigh escaped her, making his arms tighten around her shoulders. This felt good. _He_ felt good. All of her stress and anxiety began to melt away as the minutes passed while she let him hold her. He was warm, and solid, and he smelled faintly of Old Spice. She could feel her body beginning to relax and her mind beginning to slow down enough to allow exhaustion to slowly take over. Tenderly, Casey began to rub her back, easing some of the tension out of her muscles. She felt completely safe for the first time in a long time. Nothing bad, or crazy, or stupid would happen to her while Casey was with her. He would protect her no matter what.

Casey closed his eyes and leaned his head against hers, realizing that he'd wanted this for a lot longer than he'd initially thought. This was so much better than any hug they'd ever shared. It felt wonderful to hold her, to feel her warmth, to feel her breath just barely grazing his collarbone... That sensation alone was enough to get him stirred up. Despite his best efforts, he wondered what it would be like to feel her lips on his collarbone instead of her breath. Add in the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra, and he was quickly becoming a hot mess. Trying to distract himself, he focused on working the knots of tension out of her back. There were plenty of knots, too, especially between her shoulder blades and around her neck. He found himself wanting to kiss the places that his hands had been. He wanted to kiss a lot of places on her, come to think of it. And touch her. And feel her bare skin against his. And…

"Why's your heart beatin' so hard?" Becca murmured, slowly trailing one hand from his waist to his chest. She lifted her head and pulled back just a little so that she could look at him. In the low light that the lamp beside the couch cast, she could tell that his eyes had darkened. Desire was written across his handsome face, and need pressed against her stomach, giving her a pretty good idea of what had made his pulse quicken.

She had to know what he was feeling right now; the physical proof was quite noticeable. He wanted her. Even though he'd tried to convince himself otherwise, he'd wanted her for a while now. And, truth be told, he was pretty sure that she wanted him, too. He hadn't planned on things going in this direction so quickly – he'd just asked to take her out only a few hours ago – but here they were. He wanted her in more than a physical sense, too. They had become close friends over these few years, and he'd entertained some thoughts of what-if. What if this was his chance to move past the friends stage with her? Part of him was excited by the prospect of being more than her friend, but another part of him was terrified at the idea of starting a new relationship. Casey covered her hand with his, pressing her palm against the pounding of his heart. "Because..." he confessed, "I have a beautiful woman in my arms that I care a lot about...and…" – his voice wavered slightly – "…I am scared to death that I'm gonna screw this up."

Screw what up? Their friendship? Their future as something other than friends? Her relationship with Casey was the easiest, most natural-feeling relationship she'd ever had with someone. Somehow, they'd just clicked. One would have to really try to mess up what they had. And then, she realized something; Matt Casey had just confessed to being scared. He was _really_ turned on right now, but he was scared, too. She could understand that. Neither of them had super stellar relationship histories, and he'd just come out of a terrible breakup, but here they were, holding on to each other like lovers in the middle of her living room in their bed clothes. They'd already gone from friends to something more. When, she didn't know, but it had happened. And he was afraid of losing what they had because that had always been the end result in the past. He was afraid of losing her. Once again, he was opening himself to her. Touched by his honesty and small but rare show of vulnerability, Becca smiled softly. "Don't be scared, baby." she whispered, "It's just me. You're not gonna lose me, and neither of us are gonna screw this up. I promise."

Casey was kissing her before he realized it. Less than a second passed before she was eagerly kissing him back, cupping his cheek with the hand that had covered his heart. It quickly became hard to keep himself in check. Her lips were soft, and warm, and welcoming, and she tasted like mint-favored toothpaste. Her body – firmed and toned by a lifetime of farm work and firefighting – pressed deliciously against his. She made some kind of little needy sound that shot straight down his spine, making him ache with want. He wanted to slip his hands under her shirt and feel the softness of her skin. He wanted to back her up against a wall and kiss her until the both of them were breathless…but instead he slowed himself down, ending it gently. Panting just a little, he kept his arms around her as he leaned his forehead against hers, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." She wasn't sorry. Not one bit. She'd just shared a moment of intimacy with a man that she deeply cared for, a man that she knew wouldn't have kissed her like that just for the hell of it. Her heart was pounding now, and she was getting all hot and bothered. Quickly, she calculated the proximity of the couch and the amount of time it would take to get both of them to said couch. She could feel the tension of the moment arcing like electricity between them, mixing with the heat of their bodies. His eyes were smoldering now. Damn, she was wet. No, she wasn't sorry about kissing him at all. "Why are you sorry?"

"That was pretty ballsy of me."

She gave him a flirty grin, "Did you hear me complainin'?"

A small chuckle escaped him, "No." No, she hadn't complained at all. She seemed like she'd thoroughly enjoyed herself, actually.

Becca lifted her head a little, which also raised his head, and challenged him, "Then kiss me again."

The second kiss was purposefully slower and more gentle. He held her close, memorizing the way her body felt against his, the way her lips met his so tenderly…the loving way that _she_ held _him_ , making him feel wanted. Casey loved that feeling. He'd missed being wanted by someone. Her hand moved from his waist, barely registering in his mind seconds before his shirt lifted just a little. The sensation of her fingers gliding up his side shot fire through his veins and made him break away from her with a soft moan.

She paused, "Too much?"

"No." His voice had become husky with want. Hungrily, he brushed another kiss over her lips and pressed her hips into his, "It's not enough."

"What do you want?" she whispered, trailing her fingers over his stomach and up his chest, smiling to herself as he closed his eyes for a moment and shivered slightly beneath her touch, muscles rippling under her hand.

When Casey looked at her again, his eyes were soft. When he spoke, his tone was just as soft, "Can I have you?" He felt the need to ask, even though he was fairly certain that she wanted the same thing he did. He didn't want to do anything that she was uncomfortable with.

The fact that he had asked instead of just pulling her over to the couch and having his way with her spoke volumes about the kind of man he was. Without saying a word, she took his hand and guided him toward the short hallway, pausing only long enough to turn the lamp off. The couch was just gonna have to wait its turn.

Like the living room had been, her bedroom was illuminated by a single lamp that sat on the nightstand. She brought him in close, draping her arms around his shoulders as his arms instinctively encircled her. Casey was itching to touch something other than Becca's shirt. He didn't want to rush this, though, didn't want to push her too far or mess this up. He'd missed sharing intimacy with someone. It hadn't been easy getting used to just having sex and keeping his heart deeply hidden, but he'd done it. He didn't like it when being intimate with someone "didn't mean anything"; it took the specialness out of the event…and it hurt. Becca wasn't like that, though. Things, and words, and actions meant something to her, and she wasn't one to go this far just for something that was meaningless.

"Quit thinkin', baby." Her lips brushed faintly against his neck as she spoke, pulling him away from his thoughts, "It's just us now, okay? Just me 'n you…nothin' else."

He tried to give her a coherent response, but only managed a soft "Oh…" as she began to place gentle kisses on his neck. Self-control quickly slipping away, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back a little, giving her better access. Damn, this felt _so_ good. He couldn't stand it anymore – he needed to touch her. Carefully, he brought his hands down her back and around her waist before slipping them under the soft fabric of her shirt.

It was her turn to moan as his strong hands glided delicately across her skin. His left hand rested at the small of her back while his right hand slipped onto her stomach before slowly trailing northward to explore her breasts. She'd always been a little self-conscious about her size in that area – rather, her lack thereof – but, judging by Casey's shuddering sigh, and the fact that she could actually _feel_ him holding himself back as he tenderly caressed her flesh, she didn't think he minded if she was smaller than the other women in his life. Oh, his hands felt amazing. She wanted more, though, _needed_ more.

He felt her smile against the heated skin of his throat when a very needy, very un-masculine whimper escaped his lips as she curled the fingers of her right hand around his aching cock. "Babe…" he pleaded, barely managing to keep himself together, " _Please…_ "

"Please what?" she teased between kisses, stroking slowly up his length.

The sensation just about put him over the edge. "You know what." he managed before her hand reversed course, making him groan. How long had it been since someone had touched him like this? How long had it been since someone had touched him at all? Shit, this felt good. Becca knew just what to do to get him completely torn up. _Straight-laced my ass._ he thought, remembering Severide's comment about her from not too long ago.

"Tell me." she purred.

He couldn't do this anymore. His limits were maxed out. He couldn't take one more minute of this torture. Before she had time to react, he shucked her t-shirt over her head and shoved her yoga pants and panties down from her hips before yanking off his own shirt and dropping his sweatpants. In one fluid movement, he scooped her up bridal style and carried her over to her bed, where he deposited her carefully in the middle of the mattress. The whole thing had taken less than twenty seconds.

Becca watched hungrily as the dark blue plaid boxers that had hugged Casey's hips dropped to the floor. Holy crap, the man was gorgeous. Unashamed, she eyed him from head to toe as he climbed up into her bed and carefully positioned himself between her thighs, bracing his arms on either side of her shoulders.

Doing his own share of ogling, Casey murmured "So perfect…" as he leaned down and pressed several soft kisses into her neck, making her shiver.

" _Matt…_ " she breathed as he gently pushed himself completely into her.

The lusty sound of his name coming from her lips reverberated in Casey's head. He had to pause for a moment to keep himself from falling over the edge that she'd pushed him to. She was soaking wet and deliciously warm around his shaft. He glanced down at the place where their bodies joined, marveling at the smooth, taut skin beneath him. His eyes roamed up to meet hers, and he stopped. She had that look again, the same sincere look that she'd had earlier. She was looking at him like he was the most important thing in the universe to her. His throat tightened and his heart swelled as he realized that he really _was_ the most important thing in the universe to her. How long had it been since someone had looked at him like that? How long had it been since someone had felt that way about him? How long had it been since someone had honestly cared about him instead of just using him?

Seeing the emotions that played across his face and the mist that overtook his eyes, Becca pulled Casey close and kissed him lovingly. When she felt a tremble against her mouth, she kissed him again and whispered, "Make love to me, Matthew."

 **...**

 **Author's Note:** Firstly, apologies for the long absence. Both my husband and I have been _tremendously_ sick. We probably should've been hospitalized, honestly. I don't know what the heck we had, but it lasted for about a month and a half, and it _sucked_. Epically. I'm still dealing with some of it; I literally coughed so hard that I pulled a muscle in my side. Seriously. Do you know how lame that is? And painful. On the plus side, I've almost gotten us caught back up on life.

Cat belongs to me. She's modeled after my own cat, Cheyenne. Also, for those of you who are reading this overseas and may not know, the NRA t-shirt that Becca was wearing is from the National Rifle Association.

Thanks to Just Me FD for the very much needed pick-me-up, and to ItsJustBecca for the awesome ideas! Thanks to Just Me FD and .2016 for the reviews! Thanks also to Kitaluv, anotheruntoldstory, mich-shelly, everythingdance3, kezryan2, CMPunkOrton, lilangel120, selenne1727, xoUntilxoKingdomxoComexo, okaloosa, Ccondon, xMidnightLilliex, blue-lily295, mahmehalh, ecorbett, and KaylaLove143 for the follows/favorites!

I've already gotten a decent start on the next chapter. Hopefully I won't have another bout of the plague between now and then!


	6. A Productive Member of Society

**WARNING/Author's Note (pt. 1) -** Whelp, I now know what's chased my muse away for the past several months – pregnancy! More about that at the end, though. This chapter is, like, 98% adult stuff, so if that's not your cup of tea, skip to the end.

 **...**

 **A Productive Member of Society**

 **Mid May…**

Casey moaned as he struggled to stay still, tightly clenching the bed sheets in his fists, his knuckles turning white with the effort. He barely managed a small "Oh," as he practically gasped for air in between moans. The amount of noise that he was making was _immensely_ embarrassing, but he simply couldn't help it. This was a good one – a _really_ good one – the best one yet, honestly. Becca's head bobbed slowly between his thighs for just a moment longer before she drew him in completely and did something with her tongue that had him instantly seeing stars. "Ah!" he gasped, barely managing to keep himself together. He felt her grin around his aching shaft as she repeated the movement, nearly pushing him to orgasm. Back arching in near ecstasy, he cried, "Becca!" Her tongue flattened against the underside of his cock and she took her sweet time getting from his base to the tip, drawing a long, low moan from him as she made sure that he felt every second of it. Once she reached his tip, she circled it a few times with the tip of her tongue before flattening it again and gently exploring the head, making him suck in a sharp breath. "Babe..." he pleaded. She gave him one more caress…and stopped. A small, unintentional whimper escaped him when she pulled away.

"I'm not done yet, sweetheart," she smiled, "Don't worry."

He watched her with great anticipation as she slowly unfolded herself and crept up his torso, peppering soft kisses over his stomach and chest while aligning their bodies. Finally managing to release his death grip on the sheets, he let his hands roam over her back. He wanted to flip her over and take her, but she wanted to "be in charge" tonight, so he was going to let her. Gentle kisses reached his neck at the exact same time that she sank slowly down, making him groan softly as their bodies connected. His hands went to her hips, holding her in place as she carefully sat up. He wanted to feel her surrounding him for just a moment, to enjoy the sensation of being buried to the hilt inside of her. She was deliciously wet, and so warm, and _his_. All his, no one else's. She tightened her inner muscles around him, making him shudder.

"I love it when you get all tore up like this." Becca purred, guiding his hands to her chest, "It's _so_ hot."

Gently, he began to knead her breasts, "Maybe I should let you be in charge more often." He rubbed his thumbs over her peaked nipples, drawing a quiet moan from her.

"Maybe." Slowly, she began to move her hips, reveling in the feeling of having him inside of her. He was so hard right now, completely filling her with his desire. She loved how her body shifted and moved in order to accommodate him. She loved how well they fit together. And she loved the adoring way that he was looking at her as she rode him slowly. He wouldn't be able to take the slowed pace for very long, but that was okay – it was all part of the fun. Leaning forward, she braced her arms on either side of his head and kissed him deeply, her hair spilling over her shoulders and pooling around him. His hands returned to her hips and rested there, following her lead.

Casey sighed contentedly against her lips, reveling in the sensory overload that was this lovemaking session. It had been a while since he'd enjoyed sex this much. It had been a while since sex had felt this good, too. Sex with Becca was beautifully simple; it was just two people who cared a lot about each other engaging in a form of physical contact that helped to express the depth of their feelings for each other. No strings, no drama, no wondering about feelings afterward. Just the two of them pleasuring each other. It was amazingly relaxing and so incredibly intimate. She ended the kiss gently and returned to kissing his neck and collarbone, adding in soft little nips here and there. "Becca…" he breathed, hips begging to thrust into her. He could feel his body beginning to tighten in preparation for his climax. The thought of holding her hips down onto his and thrusting up into her as he came crossed his mind…and he liked it.

"Hmmm?" A tiny nip on his collarbone had him shuddering once more beneath her. This was fun.

"Please…"

Her kisses drifted back up to his jaw, "Please what?"

"I'm close."

She grinned and huskily whispered into his ear, "Then fuck me. Take what's yours."

Somewhere deep within Casey's brain, her words flipped some kind of primal switch. In a startling blur of movement, he had her on her back with her wrists pinned above her head to the mattress by his left hand. She looked up at him with a mixture of surprise and intense arousal. The movement had broken their connection, but that was okay…he could wait for a few more minutes. Slowly, he ran his right hand possessively over her chest and stomach, "What's mine?" he asked, his fingers drifting down to teasingly caress the skin between her hips.

"What do you think?" She couldn't take her eyes off of him right now, couldn't get over how extremely hot he looked as he loomed over her, singlehandedly holding her completely at his mercy, his erection glistening with her juices, the thick veins of his shaft highlighted by slivers of wetness. She wanted to run her hands over him right now, to trace every line on him, to feel the power that was currently radiating off of him. Her hands were temporarily incapacitated right now, though, which was _really_ turning her on. She secretly liked to be dominated just a little bit every now and then, and this was… Her thoughts were interrupted as he slipped not one but two fingers into her heat, "Oooh…"

He gave her a one-sided smile as he leaned forward to capture one breast in his mouth, gently suckling on the nipple before running his tongue over it and moving on to the other breast, his hand beginning to move between her thighs, making her squirm and moan when he found her sweet spot and worked his fingers hard against it. "What's wrong?" he teased, spreading kisses up to her jaw as he worked her up, "Can't take it, but you can dish it out?"

"Matt…" she groaned, leaning her head back in pleasure, her body craving something other than his fingers.

He loved the way she said his name when she was turned on. "You told me to take what was mine, remember?" He picked the pace up just a little, being careful not to hurt her in the process. She clenched around him, drawing him in, her body becoming more heated and wet as he went. With his thumb, he began to work her clit, smiling to himself as her back arched and she released a needy whimper.

"Please, Matt…"

Casey spread kisses over her neck, intensely aroused by this situation and thoroughly enjoying the dominant status that he now had. "Please what?" he whispered, lips brushing against her ear as he spoke.

"Take me." she begged, "Please…"

"Are you mine?" Casey knew the answer to that question, but he wanted to hear her response anyway. He withdrew his fingers slowly and positioned himself carefully.

"Absolutely."

"Good." He released her hands in the same moment that he buried himself inside of her.

"Matt!" Becca cried, clinging to him as he pounded into her, making her bed creak and pop.

"Am I hurting you?" He didn't want to put too much weight on her or go at it just a little too hard.

"No. Oh! Don't stop." Now it was her turn to make an embarrassing amount of noise. He'd found that spot that always made her toes curl and she was hoping that he'd keep on hitting it. "Please don't stop!"

He had no intention of stopping. Not until she got off, anyway.

"Matt…" Becca could feel her body revving up even more, like a coiled spring that was about to be unleased. She welcomed it, welcomed the pleasure and sweet release that he made sure to always bring her.

Casey felt her suddenly tighten up as a tiny gasp escaped her, signaling the beginning of her climax. He felt her fingers dig into his back and was secretly thankful that she kept her nails short, "Let it go, baby."

She arched beneath him as waves of pleasure crashed over her, "Matt!"

The sensation of her pulsing around him as she came was too much. He plunged deeply into her one final time, grunting as his own release ripped through his body and spilled into hers in intense spurts of heat.

For several moments, neither moved. The only sound in the darkened bedroom was their ragged breathing. Finally, Casey moved just enough to kiss Becca softly. Exhausted, he slowly withdrew from her and eased himself down beside her, grabbing a crumpled blanket from the foot of the bed as he went. Although both of them were sweaty, he gathered her into his arms and covered them with the blanket. Becca snuggled tightly into his side, resting her head on his shoulder and her right hand over his thundering heart. He kissed her forehead and smoothed her now-tangled hair away from her face before covering her hand with his.

There was a soft _thump!_ as Cat jumped up onto the bed and claimed her usual spot between Casey's feet and the footboard. Casey tried not to think about the awkward fact that the cat had probably just witnessed their escapade in its entirety.

"Damn fuzzy freeloader." Becca grumbled good-naturedly.

Casey chuckled and hugged her a little tighter. This was his new normal. This was what he got to come home to now. This was what he got to fall asleep with every night. This was what made him happy. He'd lost the race for Alderman by only a handful of votes, and he didn't even care. It was worth it to have what he had now; a house in a quiet neighborhood, a front _and_ back yard, a garage big enough to store all of his tools in, and a woman who loved him. The sex was just icing on the cake; having Becca was the best part of his new normal.

Becca smiled to herself as she settled against her lover. Casey was so different from the other men that she'd been with in the past. Their relationship was so…easy. They just clicked somehow. She could envision things happening with him. _Real_ things… _big_ things… _permanent_ things…not just daydreams and what-ifs like it had been in the past. She could see herself having a future – a _real_ future – with him. It made her smile.

He kissed her forehead again, "What're you smiling about?"

"Just thinkin'." She squinted at the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock that sat on his nightstand and sighed, "We probably need to go to bed, babe; tomorrow's a work day."

He huffed, "You can't possibly expect me to be a productive member of society tomorrow after what we just did."

She laughed and kissed his cheek, "If I have to adult, so do you."

 **…**

The hollow feeling that had been growing in his stomach since this call had come in was now threatening to make him sick. Something was wrong. Something was _very_ wrong. He just didn't know what.

"You feel it, too?" Otis quietly asked from the driver's seat. A rough patch in the road made his stomach churn. The last time he'd gotten this feeling, they'd lost Darden.

Casey nodded, "Something's off." Truck had been out refueling when they'd been paged out to a gas leak. They were a good five minutes behind Squad. Ordinarily, it wouldn't have bothered him, but this time was different. Five minutes could be the difference between life and eternity.

Otis carefully guided 81 onto the street that the gas leak had been reported from, "We're almost there." He could see Squad's lights near the end of the street across from a house that had seen better days.

Casey glanced down at his cell phone, rereading the last text messages that he'd exchanged with Becca.

 _Be careful._ he'd said.

 _Always. You be careful, too, babe._ she'd replied.

 _Always._

The next message from her had been a red heart emoji and the kissy-face emoji. He'd sent her the same thing in reply seconds before Squad had arrived on scene.

Otis was slowing to a stop when the radio suddenly went haywire.

"Out!" Severide shouted, "Out! Squad Three, pull out _now_!"

Casey's boots had barely touched the pavement when the house exploded.

 **…**

 **Author's Note (pt. 2) -** So, yeah…preggers. It has not been a fun ride. The first trimester was bad. I was _so_ sick, and I had _no_ energy, so writing was out of the question. My poor husband has been such a trooper. I'm a few weeks into the second trimester now, and I'm a lot better, but I still have bad days. This is our first child, and it's something that we've been working on for a long time. In fact, the day I called to make my first prenatal appointment was the day I was supposed to call to make an appointment to start trying "alternative methods." This is kind of a big deal for us. Any good thoughts, positive vibes, or prayers that you feel like sending our way are tremendously appreciated. Also, we have absolutely no idea what we're doing, so tips, hacks, and tricks are also welcomed.

Thanks to .2016 for the review! Thanks to maudep22, .Thought, dean's chick84, Cavill, BGio89, SilentlyDeadly, paolasalas-forever, TrippinOffTheWall, Bandgeek211, MatthewGreyGublerLoveXXX, and Emmetts Girl for the follows/faves!


	7. Sometimes Later Becomes Never

"Hey, kiddo!" The voice on the other end of the line sounded happy, like he'd been looking forward to hearing her voice all day.

He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to have this conversation. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want this to be real. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare and be at home in their bed with her all wrapped up in his arms…but this wasn't a bad dream…this was happening. Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, he asked in the most even and professional voice that he could muster, "Is this Gary Miller?"

Immediately, the voice went from happy to threatening, "Who is this? Why do you have my niece's phone?"

He didn't want to have her phone. She should be the one calling…but she couldn't, so he had to do it for her. He was trying valiantly to keep himself together, trying to keep a tight grip on the storm of emotions that was raging inside him. He had to be strong right now…but, man, was it getting harder by the minute. "This is Lieutenant Matthew Casey with the Chicago Fire Department." His voice wavered despite his best efforts and cracked as he spoke, "There's been an incident."

The five seconds of silence that preceded the well-practiced, tightly controlled tone of the man's voice told Casey that he was dealing with a first responder, "Is she dead?"

"No, sir. She's still in surgery." Dead. He didn't want to think about that word, didn't want that possibility to poison his thoughts any more than it already had. The image of her lying unnaturally still in the ruined house with her mask shattered and her face covered in blood flashed before his eyes. She'd been _so_ limp and lifeless when he'd lifted her from the rubble…

"What happened?"

"We were called out to a gas leak. Turned out to be one of those natural gas powered marijuana grows."

There was another pause in which Casey could hear Becca's uncle let out a slow breath, "Been several firefighters killed because'a them things."

"Yes, sir. We were lucky."

"What hospital is she at?"

"Chicago Med."

"How deep in the woods is she?"

It took him a moment to realize that the other man was asking about her condition, "I honestly don't know, sir. I haven't heard anything since we brought her in." She might be in deep, but Severide was in much deeper. Becca had caught a good amount of the explosion, but Sev had taken a direct hit. When the two of them had been found, Severide had been lying on top of her, both hands still gripping her arms. He'd either been steering her to safety or shielding her from the blast. Chief Boden had mercifully taken the responsibility of notifying Benny.

"I see." There was another brief silence, "Matthew Casey. …You're her boyfriend, aren't 'cha?"

She'd walked into the firehouse that morning – as she did every shift – proudly holding his hand. Before he'd left to refuel with the rest of Truck, she'd given him a quick kiss and told him to be careful, just like she did every time he left. He could still feel her lips against his, still feel the warmth of her hand, still hear that loving tone in her voice when she'd said, "Be careful, honey." The possibility of never hearing those words again struck him like a sledgehammer. Heart wrenching and voice cracking again, "Yes, sir." A streak of wetness suddenly shot down Casey's cheek, but he wiped it away roughly.

The hard tone softened, "She really cares about you, Lieutenant. I mean that. I've never heard her talk about someone like she talks about you."

Another streak of wetness escaped and was quickly dispatched, but more followed. He gave up and let them fall. "She's everything to me, Mr. Miller. I can't…" He had to stop for a few seconds and take a shaky breath in order to collect himself again, "I can't imagine myself without her."

"Do I need to head up there?" As he spoke, an alarm blared in the background and the dispatcher began to give instructions over the loudspeaker.

"There's nothing you can do right now." There was nothing any of them could do; both Becca and Severide were in the doctors' hands.

The distinct slam of a fire truck door sounded on the other end, followed by the wail of an awakening siren, "Keep me updated, Lieutenant."

Casey nodded, "I will, sir. Be safe."

"You, too, son."

The line went dead. Casey just stood there, trying to get himself together before returning to his comrades. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to cry. He wanted to be with Becca. He wanted to go home. …But he couldn't. Here he was _again_ , in the _same_ waiting room, waiting to have his heart ripped out and his world shattered _again_. If Becca and Sev didn't pull through… He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. Losing Darden had brought him to his knees. He'd barely survived Hallie's death. Shay's death had been a tremendous blow. Losing his child and nearly losing Dawson had just about ended him. And now, here he was _again_. Waiting, worrying, forcing himself to breathe. His sanity wouldn't hold together if he lost both his girl and his best friend. _Get yourself together._ he scolded himself, _Becca and Sev need you to be strong right now._ Taking a deep breath, he wiped his cheeks dry and returned to the rows of waiting room chairs that were occupied by the members of 51 who hadn't gone to sit with the members of Squad who had been moved to recovery rooms.

"You okay?" Herrmann asked, eyeing Casey as he claimed an empty seat. The redness that rimmed his Lieutenant's eyes and the tightness that had settled in his jaw hadn't gone unnoticed.

"No." Casey admitted, nervously toying with Becca's phone, "Not yet." She'd added his thumbprint into her phone and given him the backup access code about a week ago. Never in a million years did she dream that mere days later, he would be retrieving her phone from her seat in Squad 3 and using that thumbprint to unlock it so that he could call her uncle and tell him that she'd been hurt.

"I hear ya." Herrmann patted Casey's shoulder, "They'll be fine."

He sighed, "What's the word on the others?"

"Tony's legs are broken and his pelvis is fractured, Capp's got some cracked vertebrae, busted ribs, and a punctured lung, and Cruz has two broken arms and a concussion."

Casey nodded as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and bowing his head. It was bad, but not as bad as it could've been. Other departments in states across the country had lost firefighters from explosions like that one. They'd been _insanely_ lucky. He silently prayed that their luck would hold out and that they wouldn't lose anyone.

A cup of coffee suddenly appeared in front of Casey, making him jump a little. "Breathe." Dawson said, "They'll be fine."

"Thank you." Casey said, gratefully accepting the cup of steaming liquid. His hands were shaking. He tried to force his nerves to be still, but it didn't completely work.

Dawson watched the dark liquid quiver in the paper cup, "They're tough; they'll make it."

He nodded, trying to sound convincing, "Yeah."

She gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before going to sit beside Kidd, who was nervously watching the clock.

Casey took a slow drink, trying to reign himself in. He couldn't fall apart. Not here, not now. He turned Becca's phone around to face him and pressed a button on the side, illuminating the screen. Her lock screen photo was one that she'd snapped in his truck several weeks ago. They were all squished together, laughing like teenagers as she'd struggled to get the camera just right. He couldn't remember what had been so funny, but he'd give anything to hear her laughing like that right now.

Minutes ticked by agonizingly slowly. Benny joined the ranks of the worried about an hour after Chief Boden had called him. Mouch returned to the waiting room so that Herrmann and Chief Boden could go to check on their injured comrades. Casey tried to busy himself with watching the news, but his mind kept noting the amount of time that had passed before replaying the scene of the explosion, picking it apart, coming up with alternate endings, figuring out different ways that he could've prevented their current situation, different ways that he could've prevented the injuries that Squad had sustained…

He needed to stop before he made himself sick. He needed to banish the negativity from his mind and start thinking positively. Becca and Severide _were_ going to pull through. They were strong; they'd make it. They had to.

His mind finally drifted back to the night before, mercifully taking him away from the nervousness of the waiting room. Last night had been so...wonderful. Not just the sex part – that part was always fantastic – but the afterwards part, too. She'd fallen asleep in his arms, just like she did every night. He closed his eyes, recalling the feeling of her warm skin against his side...her even, slow breaths blowing softly across his chest...her hand resting over his heart...the now familiar weight of her head on his shoulder...the way that she fit perfectly into his arms... He'd just laid there, listening to her breathing, enjoying the closeness and quiet intimacy of the moment. He'd whispered things to her as she'd slept that he now wished he'd said aloud while she was awake. He decided in that moment that when she woke up, he would say those things to her.

"Lieutenant?"

Casey's head snapped up at the sound of Dr. Halstead's voice. Skipping any formalities, he stood and went to meet the doctor, "How is she?"

"She's gonna be fine." Dr. Halstead smiled, "She had quite a bit of internal bruising and bleeding, and we had to take her spleen, but she wasn't as bad as we'd been expecting. She's pretty banged up, but I think Severide kept the worst of it off of her. The gash on her head wasn't as deep as we'd initially thought; it was more of a cosmetic fix than anything. Her CAT scan didn't show anything that was too serious, but she does have a concussion. Don't be surprised if she doesn't remember what happened. In fact, that's probably for the best."

Casey breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Becca was going to be okay. "Any word on Severide?"

Halstead shook his head, "Nothing yet."

He nodded, "Can I see her?"

"Sure." he smiled, "Follow me."

The walk from the waiting room wasn't really that far, but it felt like they were walking to Timbuktu. When they reached Becca's door, Dr. Halstead put out a cautioning hand, "It'll be a while before she wakes up. And when she does, she may be fairly disoriented. Don't let her get upset." Slowly, quietly, he opened the door, "Let us know if you need anything."

Casey nodded as he stepped inside, "Thanks, Doc."

"You're welcome." Halstead closed the door as quietly as he'd opened it…and then they were alone.

Casey just stood there for a moment, looking at her. Wires that connected her to a softly beeping monitor ran from the top of her hospital gown and across the mattress. Oxygen tubing snaked around her cheeks. An IV was embedded in her left hand, but from the looks of the blown veins of her right hand, that hadn't been their first choice. A large swath of gauze was wrapped around her head up against her hairline like some kind of poor imitation of a fashionable headband. Bruises were already beginning to tinge her exposed skin purple.

It could've been worse. So much worse. He could've been standing over her in the morgue.

Silently, he went to her bedside and gingerly took her bruised right hand. Leaning down, he kissed her cheek and whispered into her ear, "I'm right here, baby. You're safe now."

…

"Matt?"

Casey jolted awake, his eyes flying open at the sound of his name. He was met by Becca's worried face. "Hey, gorgeous." he smiled, stiffly getting up from the recliner that he'd fallen asleep in. He kissed her tenderly, lovingly, carefully holding her face in his hands as relief washed over him. She was awake, and in one piece, and safe. He could relax now; the worst was over.

She reached for him as he slowly broke the kiss and started to pull away, "What happened to your face?"

He realized that she was talking about the gash on his left cheek. He'd forgotten about it, honestly. When the house had exploded, he'd been hit with some debris. It wasn't serious, just annoying and kind of itchy. One of the nurses had insisted on putting an antibiotic bandage on it, and after that, it had simply left his mind. Typical Becca. She was the one in the hospital bed, but she was worried about him. Gently, he took her outstretched hand and pressed it against his wounded cheek, "It's just a little scrape, sweetheart; didn't even need stitches. I'm fine."

She'd been given some pretty heavy meds, but not enough to completely slow her mind. Casey's eyes were bloodshot, and she could feel the tension and exhaustion radiating off of him like heat waves from an open oven. This wasn't the first time she'd woken up in a hospital, but she could tell that whatever had brought her here had been major. "What happened, babe?"

Well, that hadn't taken long. He knew better than to try to sugar coat the situation; Becca's voice might be tinged with sedatives, but her eyes weren't. He released her hand, "What's the last thing you remember doing today?"

She started to answer, but stopped when she realized that nothing was coming. It was a simple question. A basic question. Right? What was the last thing she remembered? That should be easy. So...why wasn't it coming? Quickly, she glanced at the clock that hung on the wall in front of her. The glowing red numbers read 17:09, 05/18/2016. _Seventeen-oh-nine._ she thought, wracking her foggy brain for answers, _Seventeen-oh-nine. May eighteenth. Been on shift for ten hours. What did I do today? ...Why can't I remember? How long have I been out? Seventeen-oh-nine on five-eighteen..._

Casey watched helplessly as Becca's brow slowly creased in a mixture of worry and concentration. She was having to think way too hard about this. He could see frustration and a hint of panic beginning to build on her face. "It's okay if you don't remember." he gently said, sitting down on the edge of her bed, "Dr. Halstead said that might happen." From the corner of his eye, he could see the numbers on the monitors beside her bed changing as her heart rate increased. Gingerly, he took her bruised hand, "It's alright, baby. It'll come back." Hopefully.

"What if it doesn't?"

The fear behind her quiet question tore at his heart. "It will." he assured her, scooting closer and pressing a soft kiss against her lips, "I promise." He knew that she may never remember the events of today, but was that really so bad? "Just relax, okay?"

"I'll try." She remembered her full name, his full name, her current address, her previous address, her Kentucky address, her birthday, his birthday, both of their phone numbers, how to get home from here, how to get back to work from here, who the president was, all of the important stuff. So why couldn't she remember what had happened today? Taking a slow breath to calm herself, she dug a little deeper, pushing past the fog...and found a sliver of memory. "I remember fixin' breakfast this mornin'." she slowly started, looking past him at the clock, as if staring at the numbers would restore her memory, "I showed Otis how to make gravy like we do back home. ...He did really good for his first time..." She paused briefly, processing what little information that she was gathering, before looking back to Casey, "And then I remember tellin' you to be careful before Truck left to go get gas. After that..." She shook her head.

"Good." he smiled, "See? It's coming back."

"Matt, what happened?" She was beginning to get upset now as she realized that he was stalling. Her voice waivered as a sickening thought occurred to her, "Is someone dead?"

"No." Casey quickly answered, "No, no one's dead." He sighed, deciding that he needed to tell her now, "While we were refueling, the house was paged out to a gas leak. Turns out, we'd been called to a gas-powered indoor pot farm. There was an explosion. Everyone from Squad was injured pretty seriously, but you and Severide got the worst of it. When we found you…" He had to stop for a moment to collect himself as the images of unearthing both her and Severide in the rubble surfaced once again in his mind, "When we found you, you were under Sev. I don't know if he was shielding you or pushing you out of the way, or what but…he was holding onto your arms. He's in a medically-induced coma right now. Clarke said they're expecting him to make a full recovery in time, but until he gets more stable, they decided to keep him under."

Becca's eyes fell to her lap as the gravity of Casey's words sank in. She began to become aware of the pull and itch of stitches, the dull ache of her IV, the annoying stickiness of monitor leads, the way the bandage around her head made her scalp itch, the way the oxygen was drying out her nose… She didn't know what her damage was, and to be honest, she didn't really want to know. Not right now anyway; there were bigger and more important things to worry about. …A gas-powered indoor pot farm. She'd heard stories on the news about those things. Firefighters had been killed because of those things. …They'd been lucky. Crazy lucky. They'd probably never be that lucky ever again.

What kind of shape were the others in? Could she go to see them? Could they come to see her? Would they all be able to return to work? Clarke had said that Severide was expected to recover, but how long would that take? Would he be able to return to firefighting? Would he be stuck in a desk job? Would he still command Squad? …Had he just sacrificed his career and almost lost his life…for her?

Casey watched as tears began to well up in her eyes. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

"I…" her voice broke and tears spilled onto her cheeks.

"Shhh..." he soothed, wrapping her in a careful but tight hug, "It's over. You're safe, okay?" He'd never seen her cry before. He'd seen her dangerously close, but he'd never actually seen tears fall. It was a little scary, to be perfectly honest. "I'm right here. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, I promise."

She buried her face in his shoulder and shook, trying to hold in full sobs out of fear of breaking stitches. She clung to him desperately, suddenly _very_ aware of exactly how close she'd come to the end of the line. What would've happened to him if she'd died?

He just held her and murmured softly to her, trying to calm her down. "I'm here, baby. …You're safe, okay? …The worst is over."

Several minutes passed before she managed to calm down enough to pull away. She _hated_ crying, especially in front of people. "Sorry." she croaked, roughly wiping her cheeks.

"Don't be." Casey caught her hands and guided them to her lap, "You've seen me cry before. I guess this makes us even." Carefully, he dried her face with his hands and leaned in for a soft kiss. Keeping his face close to hers, he continued, "It's gonna be okay." – he kissed her again – "I promise." – another kiss – "Okay?"

Becca sniffled a little, "Okay." His hands felt good on her cheeks. She wanted more, wanted to be wrapped up tightly in his arms at home in their bed, but that couldn't happen right now. When would it happen? When would she be well enough to go home? When could she snuggle into the warmth and comforting strength of his body? How long would she be off work? Was this covered by workers' comp?

Casey could see the first hints of worry beginning to furrow her brow again. "Stop." he whispered, kissing her a little harder this time, "Please? Don't worry about anything right now, okay?" Tenderly, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, "I'll take care of you, baby. You know that."

She nodded, feeling guilty for worrying, "I know."

 _Do it now._ a little voice whispered in the back of his mind, _Don't wait. Sometimes later becomes never._

He kissed her again, softer this time and with more depth. When he ended it, he looked directly into her eyes and told her one of the things that he'd whispered to her the night before, "I love you."

The tears that gathered in her eyes this time were happy ones. Gently, she pulled him back into a soft kiss that was slow and deep and passionate. Trails of wetness rolled down her cheeks, but she didn't care. "I love you, too."

…

Author's Note: Apologies for the posting delay. When I went to work the day after I posted the last chapter, we were told that we would be in overtime until further notice. They weren't kidding. The good news is, I totally won my family's 2016 FitBit challenge (I've walked the entire length of New Zealand, according to the app.). Bad news is, I desperately need new shoes, lol! Becca's uncle Gary belongs to me.

I know this one isn't very realistic, but the show isn't very realistic sometimes. (The blatant nonuse of Nomex hoods irritates me to no end.) If I was being realistic, there would be funeral planning going on, and that's no fun. Sorry if it reads as choppy as it feels – I literally wrote this in 10 and 15 minute intervals at work in Evernote and then transferred it to Word.

We're having a girl, by the way.

Thanks to Pallada, LoveFiction2016, Cavill, ethanjakelexi, Just Me FD, msgemgem, and auryalbuquerque for the reviews and well-wishes! Thanks also to Cavill, TeamSeveride, BGio89, damagedgoods2012, vampslover101, golden-priestess, ethanjakelexi, Marshmallow monster02, SindelHearts, little lady friend, Skyler1510, LucyJ27, msgemgem, ariah23, LuCkY-StAr69, hrodenhaver, aniek18, sfxbabe21, castillocarisa1, and paolasalas-forever for the follows/favorites! Sorry if I've mentioned you beforehand and your username is all jacked up. I don't know how to fix that. I think the periods and dashes mess with the programming sometimes.


	8. Too Far Above Your Education Level

**August**

"Delta Dawn, what's that flower you have on?  
Could it be a faded rose from days gone by?  
And did I hear you say he was a-meetin' you here today  
To take you to his mansion in the sky…"

He was watching her again. She hated the way his green eyes felt on her back, but she did her best to ignore it. Did he honestly think she didn't notice? Every shift, every chance he got, when he wasn't hurling insults at her or making fun of her…he watched her. Why? What was so interesting about her that made this man watch her so intently? She felt like a bug under a scientist's microscope, like she was being visually dissected. What was he getting out of watching her like that? Did he just enjoy making her uncomfortable? Was watching her like this just part of his endless arsenal of irritations?

Deciding to tone her already quiet singing down to a soft hum, she placed the plate she'd been washing into the rinse water and cast a glance over her shoulder. He was watching her very intensely, a slight expression of puzzlement ghosting over his face. Their eyes met, sending a tiny jolt of electricity down her spine. Nonchalantly, she returned her attention to the dishes, valiantly fighting the urge to squirm. Captain Daniel Morgan was the kind of handsome that older men like George Clooney, Harrison Ford, and John Stamos rocked, but the fact that he was an asshole completely killed it.

A sudden familiar presence behind her eased the tension somewhat. Casey dropped a quick kiss onto her cheek and slipped his coffee cup into her soapy wash water, "Is he bothering you again?"

"No more'n usual." Becca sighed, "He's watched me for a solid half hour now. Wish I knew what he was so damn interested in."

Casey leaned against the sink, "I'd be happy to ask." He'd be happy to meet Morgan out back, too. He'd promised to play nice, but it got harder and harder every time Morgan made some snide comment about her intelligence, accused her of being inbred because she was from Kentucky, or ordered her around like she was his servant. He'd gotten in Morgan's face more than once…and had spent quite a bit of time in Boden's office afterward.

Thus far, she'd managed to keep Casey mostly at bay. Words had been exchanged, but not blows. Not yet, anyway. Morgan and Chief Hatcher were good friends, which made any kind of confrontation extremely dangerous. It wasn't worth risking a career over, especially one like Casey's, "Leave it be, babe; Kelly'll be back soon and he'll be gone."

"I could use a refill, Miller." Morgan called from his seat at one of the tables.

"I could use a pint jar of a hun'erd 'n twenty-five proof, but that ain't happenin' either." Becca muttered, making quick work of Casey's cup. Her uncle would've flipped his lid if he'd heard some of the things that she'd said to Morgan over the few weeks that she'd been back, but she was beyond caring at this point. Morgan had made it his mission to go out of his way to make her life as miserable as possible during his time at 51. She knew better than to argue with him too much, though; she'd scrubbed the restroom clean with an old toothbrush three times since she'd been back. Drying her hands, she crossed the kitchen to retrieve Morgan's mug.

"Keep it black, too." Morgan continued, unfazed by her sass, "No sugar this time. Unless that's too far above your education level."

Casey started to say something, but Becca – immediately infuriated by Morgan's insult – finally snapped and beat him to it.

"I have my MBA, jackass." she snarled, silencing the entire room, "I graduated summa cum laude, I'm a nationally registered paramedic, a certified firefighter in _two_ states, I've got three folders in my employee file full of training certificates, and I've been a firefighter for almost eighteen years." She snatched his mug from his hand, "Don't you _dare_ call me uneducated."

Morgan just looked at her, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He was _not_ a fan of female firefighters and _loved_ messing with Becca, seeing how far he could push her. Ordinarily, she'd just ignore him, but lately he'd been hitting more and more nerves. "Be a good girl and fetch my coffee."

The look that Becca gave him should've turned him to stone, "You best be glad you're kissin' Hatcher's ass."

The faint smile turned into a full one when he realized he'd finally made her mad, "No sugar."

She turned around, "Fuck you."

"Rebecca!" Chief Boden scolded as he walked into the break room, "Watch your language."

"Sorry, Chief." There was no sincerity behind the apology as she poured fresh coffee into the mug and returned it to Morgan. Part of her seriously considered dumping the steaming liquid over his head, but she decided against it as far more painful and amusing revenge options began to surface in her mind. Morgan smirked as he accepted his coffee.

Casey's hand closed around her right bicep and without a word, he steered her out of the breakroom, down the hallway, and into his office. He needed to get her away from Morgan before she got into trouble again. And before he broke Morgan's nose.

"I'm sorry." Becca apologized as soon as the door clicked shut, looking down at her boots, "I snapped. He just…knows exactly where to jab. …I shouldn't have let him get to me."

Quickly, Casey closed the blinds, "He can get you fired, you know."

"I know." She sighed as she sat down on his bunk and tiredly rubbed her hands over her face, "Been a long time since someone dug at me like he does."

"He'll be gone soon." Deciding to steer the conversation away from the sore spot that was Daniel Morgan, Casey pulled his chair away from his desk and sat backward in it, facing her, "I didn't know you have your MBA."

She shrugged, "It's just a useless piece of paper with fancy writin' on it. I promised mamaw I'd go to school and get a degree in somethin' that didn't involve me runnin' into a burnin' buildin'. I went the business route because I figured I could find a decent job fairly easily if firefightin' didn't work out."

He smiled, "You should've been a Boy Scout; you're ready for anything."

"Not quite." She gave him a flirty grin, "I wasn't ready for how hard I fell for you."

The tones dropped before Casey could respond.

…

It should've been a routine call for additional manpower. With another house in the fight, the burning house should've been taken care of in mere moments. But, this wasn't a routine call…this wasn't a routine house fire. Three members of Firehouse 28 had been trapped inside, unable to find their way out because of the debris. They hadn't known until it was too late that the house they were lost in belonged to a hoarder. Truck and Squad had found two of the lost firefighters, but a third was still missing. The flames roared higher and the house itself began to pop and crack as the fire consumed more and more of the junk that crammed its rooms and hallways, adding fuel to its rage.

"House Twenty-Eight, call out!" Becca shouted into the inferno, carefully dropping hose line behind herself so that she could find her own way back out as she squeezed down the narrow pathways that the homeowner had created. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the shrill chimes of an alarm; she was getting closer to a downed comrade. Morgan had abandoned her when she'd disobeyed his command to pull out. It was just as well – he was more of a distraction than a help. Both Boden and Casey were yelling in her ear, telling her to get out before the whole place collapsed. If she could just have one more minute, she might be able to reach the downed firefighter.

And suddenly, there it was – a boot protruding from a flaming pile of stuff. Frantically, she went to pushing the mess off him, trying to free him before the weight of the pile suffocated him. A familiar name flashed on the back of his coat, causing her breath to catch in her throat. Adrenaline surged through her body, giving her the strength to clear enough junk to free her friend, roll him onto his back, and begin dragging him toward the exit.

"I've got him!" she exclaimed over the radio.

"Where are you?" Casey demanded, bolting for the burning house, ignoring Boden's shouts for him to get back.

"Follow my hose line! I think I'm coming up from a back room!"

In a matter of seconds, Casey was there. With his added strength, they managed to wiggle and tug their way out. Once they were at a safe distance, Becca stripped off his oxygen cylinder, dropped to the ground beside the rescued firefighter, tore off her helmet, mask, hood, and gloves and began shouting "Tommy! Tommy!" as she removed his helmet and mask.

A small groan escaped Tommy Welch as he regained consciousness while Becca gently worked his hood off. Opening his eyes, he looked up at her and smiled, "Becky."

Relief washed over her. Hurt or not, her friend was at least awake and talking. "Are you okay?"

"Somethin' hit my helmet pretty hard, but I don't think it did any serious damage. Help me up." With help from both Becca and Casey, Welch sat up. For a moment, he closed his eyes as his head spun. Once the dizziness faded, he decided, "All the way."

Becca took one side and Casey took the other as they hauled Welch to his feet. Becca slipped under his right arm, allowing him to lean on her until he could steady himself. Casey motioned for Dawson and Brett to head their way.

"I'm okay." Welch said at length, pulling Becca into a tight hug and quietly adding, "Thanks, kid; that's another I owe ya."

"You know I don't believe in keepin' score." She pulled away slowly as the ambulance crew approached, House 28's chief in tow, "You need to get checked out."

"Yeah, I know." He extended a hand to Casey, "Thanks, Lieutenant."

Casey nodded as he shook the former Lieutenant's hand, "No problem."

"Take care of my girl." Welch added, nodding toward Becca.

Casey grinned, "I will." As Brett and Dawson tended to Welch, Casey draped his arm across Becca's shoulders and walked with her toward the rest of their house. "How'd you manage to make friends with Tommy Welch?"

She shrugged, "It's amazing how much people will change if you look past their mistakes and treat them like human beings."

"I told you to pull out!" Morgan barked, coming to meet Becca and Casey halfway.

"I know what you said." Becca growled as she walked past him.

"You'll be written up for that." he continued, "Maybe even suspended."

Becca whirled around, "Y'know what? I don't care! Write me up. Send me home. I won't lose sleep over it. My friend is alive, and that's all I'm worried about." She stalked toward him, stopping only a few inches away, "Firehouse Fifty-One doesn't leave men behind. Everybody that goes in comes back out. It's a fairly basic concept that even pompous assholes like yourself should be able to comprehend; it's called brotherhood." She started to walk away, but paused, "But, then again, I guess you _wouldn't_ understand. Stuff like that seems to be too far above your education level."

…

Author's Note: Firstly, apologies for the lengthy delay. My daughter decided to make an early entrance, but no worries – she's perfectly fine, just terribly impatient, lol. Adjusting to first-time parenthood has been…different. I'm still waiting for the "fun" of it to begin. I can see why sleep deprivation is used as a torture method. Coffee is my new best friend.

This chapter is crap, and I am fully aware that it is crap. However, I have rewritten it six times now, and I am sick of messing with it. So, please forgive the crappiness. Becca is a little out of character here, but that won't last. Morgan belongs to me, and I totally made House 28 up. The lyrics that I used at the beginning are from the song _Delta Dawn_ by Tanya Tucker.

Thanks to LoveFiction2016, msgemgem, ItsJustBecca, and the guests for the reviews! Thanks also to MatthewGreyGublerLoveXXX, gracieann, readercub410, be-my-one-and-only, BGio89, runawaycherry93, hrodenhaver, sessysbaby666, courtcourtrawrs07, randomrainbowcookies, MiraiFutureGirl, Arkansas Sweetheart, itsreagannn, Alexstarlight18, laymetosleep33, CryingRosex3, Blue And Gold Tigers, IAmFanFicForever, Synchronously Anonymous, You cant rush science, Pinklover98, 19irene96, Dolphinray, HuntressForTheWolves, EmmaMayCrann, and choirbandgeek for the follows/favorites!


	9. An Ace

"Becca…I got a problem." Herrmann sheepishly began.

"Your possum's back, idn'e?" Becca asked before popping a potato chip into her mouth.

"Yeah." he admitted, hating the fact that this conversation was even happening.

She let her accent flow freely, "I told you moth balls was for keepin' snakes away, not possums."

"I know." She offered him the bag and he took a couple of chips, "It's in the attic again. The kids are scared to death of it. Cindy wants me to call an exterminator, but that's expensive." He sighed in defeat, "Tell me again what to do to get rid of it."

Becca took a long swig from her travel mug of sweet tea, "You're gonna need a trap – the catch 'n release kind. You'll also need a handful of cat food in an old pie pan, or on a paper plate, or somethin' disposable. Put that up there overnight and check it in the mornin'. If it's in there, call me; I'll take it to the woods 'n let it go. Do _not_ touch it, don't handle the cage without leather gloves on, and _do not_ let them youngins 'a yers get near it. Possums can carry rabies."

Herrmann felt like he knew the answer already, but he asked anyway, "…You don't…happen to have a trap I can borrow, do you?"

Leaning back in her chair, she smiled, "It's in the truck with a pie pan and some cat food. I'll show you how to set it after shift."

Brett shuddered, "Possums are so gross."

Becca shrugged, "They're nature's fuzzy little garbage disposals, not National Geographic cover models."

Amused, Cruz shook his head, "There's a reality TV show in this somewhere."

" _Becca the Exterminator_." Otis said with more than a little dramatic flair, "Cleaning the critters out of Chicago one attic at a time!" An idea struck him and he turned to Cruz, "We could turn that into a YouTube channel."

Casey entered the break room, heading for the coffee pot, "What're you turning into a YouTube channel?"

"We're gonna film Becca while she traps the possum in Herrmann's attic." Otis explained, making Casey pause in his pursuit of late-morning coffee, "We'll make a series out of the whole process, and the season finale will be the release of the possum back into the wild."

"And what if said possum has rabies?" Becca asked, handing her travel mug to Casey, who took a hearty drink of her tea.

That possibility stumped Otis, "Oh. Yeah. We'd have to take it to a vet and have it put down."

Retrieving her tea from Casey, she took a delicate sip before continuing, "Otis, I can do exactly what that vet would have to do, only cheaper and more efficiently."

He frowned, "What do you…" – what she was implying suddenly hit him – "Oh."

Casey shook his head and flipped the end of Becca's ponytail, "You can't discharge a firearm within the city limits, babe." There was still coffee in that pot and his cup was empty. The fact that it was almost lunchtime was irrelevant.

She watched him go, "Ever'body else does."

She had a point, but he wasn't going to encourage her. Instead, he filled his cup and glanced at the soap bubble-filled sink, "What's in the sink?"

"I'm soakin' some containers."

"Oh, okay." Casey took a swig of his coffee, grunting softly as the taste of the lukewarm liquid clashed with the lingering taste of Becca's tea. He looked again at the sink and muttered "Fantastic." sarcastically to himself. There were two sour cream containers, a butter tub, and a Cool Whip container bobbing among the suds. By this time tomorrow, every one of them would be in the "container cabinet" at their house. He loved Becca, but sometimes going through four different containers in the refrigerator before he found either the leftovers or the correct food item was _really_ annoying. He knew that she was trying to save money by reusing everything she could, but geez! They weren't broke! He had considered buying her a brand-new set of matching Tupperware, but he knew that she'd just put it up and "save it for when the others wear out". (Which meant that it would sit on a shelf, unused for all of eternity.) Maybe he could convince her to at least start using freezer tape to label the stupid things...

Morgan strode purposefully into the break room, went straight to the sink, and dropped his nearly full coffee cup into the water without so much as a courtesy glance.

"Was that really necessary?" Casey growled as Morgan started to walk away. He grabbed a yellow dishwashing glove from a drawer, slipped it on, and pulled the sink stopper out so that Becca wouldn't have to reach into the still-scalding hot and newly-contaminated water.

Morgan glanced over his shoulder at the contents of the sink before bellowing, "Miller! Why are you washing the garbage?"

"It's not garbage." Becca sighed, rising slowly from her seat and sauntering over to the sink, "These can be reused. Throwin' 'em away would be wasteful."

Morgan gave her a look of disdain as she rinsed the brown suds from the containers, "Seriously? Are you _that_ poor?"

"I ain't poor." she snapped before Casey could say anything, "I was raised to be mindful of what I sent to the landfill."

Morgan rolled his eyes, "Too bad you weren't raised to use proper grammar and not butcher the English language with every poorly constructed sentence you spout off. Where'd you learn to talk, anyway?"

Becca stepped in front of Casey before he could go for Morgan and played an ace that she'd been holding for weeks, "About five miles down the road from where you did, _Captain_."

For a split second, Morgan looked at her like she'd struck him. The look faded as quickly as it had come, his eyes narrowing at her as if she were a tiny mouse and he was a hungry cobra, "I beg your pardon?"

The left corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk. She'd struck a nerve. "You heard me."

 _Beeee-deeee-brrrrr!_

"Ambulance Sixty-One, Squad Three, Truck Eighty-One…"

"We'll discuss this later." Morgan growled before sprinting toward the bay.

"Yes, I imagine we will." Becca murmured to herself as she followed him.

…

 **Three hours later…**

"What do you want?" Morgan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his desk, "A raise? A promotion? What's it gonna take to keep you quiet?"

It was all Becca could do to keep from laughing. She got a sick little thrill from knowing that she had dirt on Morgan. And it wasn't even major dirt! But, it was enough to put her into a position of power, and it was _nice_. "You don't have the authority to offer such things," she replied coolly, keeping her poker face up, "Regardless of how much smoke you blow up Hatcher's ass. Don't dangle carrots, Captain."

Morgan gave her a long, hard looking over. It made Becca want to squirm, but she held her ground. "Who do you belong to, girl?" he asked at length, just a tiny little bit of accent tinting his words, "Gary?"

She shook her head, "Robert 'n Evelyn."

"You're not old enough to be their daughter."

"I'm their granddaughter. Gary's my uncle."

That made sense. A lot made sense about Miss Rebecca Irene Miller suddenly. She had Gary's mouth, Evelyn's kindness, and Robert's work ethic. Was it possible that… No. No, he couldn't get his hopes too far up. That was a long time and another lifetime ago. He was a completely different person back then. Still, though…that little flicker of hope still burned within him… Maybe…just maybe…the rumors that had flown so wildly more than thirty years ago were true. When he spoke again, Morgan's voice was markedly gentler, "Robert and Evelyn were mighty fine folks. Their loss is a true shame."

Becca nodded, "Thank you, Sir."

He decided to keep his tone gentle, "You're a smart girl, Miller; I believe I'm safe in saying that you know more than just my childhood address." When she didn't respond, he continued, "I admit that I wasn't the most upstanding of young men back in the day. I've worked hard to move past that part of my life. I would appreciate it if you would keep whatever knowledge you have to yourself."

"I will on one condition."

Morgan took a breath, "I'm listening."

"Lighten up. Quit bein' a dick. We're all in this together, and work flows a whole lot easier when everyone's a team player. I don't know when Kelly will be cleared to come back. Until then, come down off your high horse and act like a normal human being. This is a good house; you'll enjoy it if you'll just let yourself."

Well, that wasn't unattainable. In fact, it was surprisingly simple. "Fair enough." When Becca offered him her hand, he took it.

"Welcome to Firehouse Fifty-One, Captain."

…

Author's Note: Hey – I found my laptop! Yay! Apologies for the length of time between chapters. I've been sick (and sick again…and again…and again), I've moved, and this thing called life keeps getting in the way. It'll get better, though. Babygirl is growing like a weed. She's almost six months old, y'all! Thanks to ItsJustBecca, Love. Fiction. 2017, and my guest for the reviews. Thanks to Apollofan210, GraceLeah07, animexchick, BGio89, MatthewGreyGublerLoveXXX, , dreamer47030, AshleyLaywood, cuttiepiepay, and BookDreamer03 for the follows/favorites! Thanks also to BGio89 for making sure I wasn't dead, lol!

If you're not familiar with the terminology, the correct name for a "possum" is actually "opossum". I have yet to meet anyone who pronounces the "o". The cat food in a pie pan trick works. Don't ask me how I know that. (The mothballs trick works, too.)

When Morgan asked Becca who she belonged to, he was asking who her parents were.

Thoughts and prayers for those affected by Hurricane Harvey. If you're going to donate, please donate to a charity that actually sends donations to where they're needed instead of using them for "Administrative Costs" and "Marketing".


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